With the stark realization that the slow-talking lawman was about to take the law into his own hands, Wolf’s brain became instantly aware of the hopelessness of his situation. All along he had anticipated a long trip back to Fort Laramie with the possibility of an opportunity for escape. But he now understood that his life had no value to the marshal. He must fight for his life, but how? With his hands manacled behind him, he couldn’t even get to his feet quickly enough to attack the big lawman.
With a grand air of formality, Ned started the “trial.” “Order in the court. The territory of Dakota will now try the defendant, Wolf, of unknown origin, for attempted murder, assault on a sergeant in the U.S. Army, horse thievin’, and escape from federal custody. Will the council for the defense stand and be recognized—make that sit and be recognized.” Ned paused and nodded toward a completely astonished Wolf. “That’d be you, son. How does the defendant plead? Guilty, or not guilty?” He waited for Wolf to speak.
“I didn’t do anythin’ wrong,” the puzzled young man finally said.
“All right,” Ned continued, obviously enjoying his mock trial. “The council for the defense has spoke, so we’ll now turn it over to the prosecution. Did you attack Sergeant Carl What’s-his-name in the saloon at the Three-Mile Hog Ranch?”
“No. He attacked me.”
“But you broke his arm. Ain’t that right?”
“He had no call to grab me with it.”
“But the witnesses say you started to cut his throat. Ain’t that right?”
“I started to, because I thought he was tryin’ to kill me.”
Ned shook his head as if confused. “Well, what kept you from goin’ ahead and slittin’ his throat?”
“Rose said to stop—said he wasn’t really out to kill me; said he just wanted to fistfight me—so I let him go.”
“Rose?” Ned questioned. “Rose Hutto, a known whore, and that’s your story?”
“I reckon,” Wolf replied, weary of the deputy’s idea of entertainment. “Get it over with. Go ahead and do what you’re aimin’ to.”
“It don’t pay to try to hurry justice up,” Ned replied. “How about that horse you stole?”
“I didn’t steal him. I turned him loose and headed him back toward the fort.”
“So you’re tellin’ the court you just borrowed the horse?”
“It don’t make much difference what I say, does it?” Wolf replied.
“Well, I reckon the defense rests, so we’ll have to wait for the verdict.” He shifted the Winchester to rest across his arms. “Hold on, the jury’s already back. Do we have a verdict? We do? Well, what say you?” Wolf leaned forward, testing the strength in his legs. It was impossible, sitting cross-legged as he was, to generate enough force to spring up before Ned shot him. It all seemed so meaningless to end his life at the hand of an obviously demented maniac, but there was nothing he could do about it.
“What say you?” Ned repeated, then pretended to be listening to the make-believe foreman of his make-believe jury. With an expression of mock surprise, he read the verdict. “Not guilty!”
Astounded, in total confusion as to whether he was to live or die, Wolf was left to wonder if there were additional games the marshal wanted to play before he either killed him or took him back for trial. He was further baffled by the lawman’s next move. Ned got up from his seat across the fire from Wolf and walked over to kneel behind his prisoner. Wolf stiffened, anticipating the feel of the cold steel rifle barrel against the back of his head. Instead, he felt the tug at his wrists as Ned unlocked the manacles and removed them. “Now, let’s make some coffee to wash down the rest of that meat you got on the fire,” he said. “Let me get my packhorse up here and we’ll make us some. Jury trials always make me hungry.”
Still unable to believe his life had been handed back to him, Wolf did not move right away. The reversal of fortune was hard to justify, and he could not help thoughts of a devious motive behind the lawman’s charade. Ned paused to give him a hard look before bending over to pick up the carbine Wolf had dropped. “I know what you’re thinkin’,” he said. “Maybe the son of a bitch is waitin’ for me to jump up and run, so he can shoot me in the back. And keep his conscience clean by sayin’ the prisoner made a run for it, so he had to shoot me. Well, let me set you straight. I ain’t got no conscience.” That said, he tossed the carbine to him. “Where’d you get the Sharps? From one of those whores, I bet. It’s a good weapon, especially for huntin’ buffalo, but I’ll bet you’ll be glad to see an old friend I brought with me. I got somethin’ on my packhorse we can use to change that bandage on the back of your head, too. I don’t think you could get that one any dirtier. Then we could be drinkin’ coffee while we’re settin’ here jawin’.”
Ned got up again and started walking toward the darkness beyond the clearing, boldly presenting his back to the still-startled fugitive, confident in his assessment of the young man’s conscience. Wolf turned to watch him, holding the carbine firmly, unable to figure out the trick, if there was one. Maybe, to play it safe, he should take the opportunity given him to put a bullet in the middle of the broad back now fading into the dark trees. He couldn’t pull the trigger. A few moments passed, and then Ned reappeared, leading a packhorse and carrying Wolf’s Henry rifle in one hand. “Here you go,” he said, and casually handed the Henry to Wolf.
Unable to erase the look of bewilderment from his face, Wolf mumbled, “’Preciate it.”
Understanding Wolf’s confusion, Ned paused before untying his coffeepot from the pack. “Look, young feller, I’ve been huntin’ outlaws and murderers for enough years now to tell the really bad ones from the others. And it’s plain to me that you ain’t one of the bad ones. I figured you were gettin’ a sour deal after I talked to your lady friends and that bartender in the saloon. That soldier jumped you and you fought back. There wasn’t no reason to throw you in prison for fightin’. To tell you the truth, the main reason I came after you was just to see if I could track you—that and the fact that I was ordered to do it. And I figured if I turned the job down, they’d just send somebody else. Then somebody would have ended up dead, either you or him, and there wasn’t no sense in that.” His coffeepot free then, he paused another moment before going to fill it with water. “So you can take off from here to wherever you had in mind. I’ll tell ’em I lost you.” He grinned. “And they’ll pay me anyway.”
Wolf stood by the campfire, scarcely believing the events of the past few minutes. He gave serious thought to whether or not he was witnessing the actions of a crazy man. Maybe Ned Bull’s being too long on the trail of murderers and thieves had finally worn a soft spot on his brain. He looked down at his prized Henry rifle, then glanced at the bay gelding standing near the water, grazing quietly. Would Ned attempt to stop him if he suddenly made a move to saddle his horse and depart? He was genuinely perplexed, but with his rifle in hand, he felt he was now able to deal with whatever bizarre move the deputy marshal made next.
With a coffeepot full of water, Ned climbed back up the bank to find Wolf still standing where he had left him, and the look on the young man’s face told him he was troubled over his unexpected not-guilty verdict. So he attempted to set his mind at ease. “Look here, partner, I know you’re kinda wonderin’ if I’m crazy as a tick, just ’cause I got the jump on you and let you go. Well, you can stop worryin’. I ain’t crazy. I’ve just been at this business long enough to know the law—in your case, the army—doesn’t always get the right of things. You don’t deserve to be punished for kickin’ that bully’s ass, and I got no intention of arrestin’ you for somethin’ that I’da done in the same fix. I know you’ve been livin’ on your own or with a tribe of Injuns most of your life, and I figure you’ll make out all right as long as you stay away from the soldiers. So you go on back in these mountains where you belong. I’ll be headin’ back to Fort Laramie in the mornin’ and I’m wishin’ you good luck.”
Wolf finally realized that Ned was sincere in
his statement, and he immediately relaxed his guard. “I reckon I’m obliged,” he said. “I’ll slice some more meat off that hindquarter. I sure would like some coffee.”
Ned chuckled. “Now, that’s more like it. We’ll have us some pretty quick.”
Before the night was over, a mutual feeling of trust was established between the two men, although they were as much opposites as two men could be. As Ned had suspected, Wolf was almost completely naive in regard to the sanctity of the Black Hills, and was unaware of the recent discovery of gold in the hills. In answer to Wolf’s insistence that the Black Hills were protected from white infringement by treaty, Ned told him the true status of that sacred area. “I know it ain’t right,” he explained, “but the government sent an army regiment in here last year, and they brought back reports of findin’ gold. And once the word got out about it, prospectors started sneakin’ in, and a big strike was made over on French Creek, fifty or sixty miles north of here. Now, I know the Lakota and the Cheyenne think the Black Hills is where God lives. But the white man worships gold, and they now know for damn sure that the Black Hills is where gold lives, and there ain’t no way the army is gonna be able to keep ’em outta here.”
It was sobering news for Wolf and something that he was going to think hard on. It was difficult for him to believe that these rugged mountains might be consumed by gold-seeking intruders. “But there’s a treaty, signed by the government,” he protested again.
“Don’t matter,” Ned replied. “Gold is more powerful than the government or any treaty they signed. I heard talk back at Fort Laramie that a strike at a place called Deadwood Gulch has already brought in so many prospectors that the army has given up tryin’ to run ’em out.” Seeing the trouble his enlightenment had brought to Wolf, he felt compassion for the simple child of the forest. “I know it ain’t right, but gold is king, and I don’t reckon that’ll ever be any different.” He paused again, studying his new friend’s reaction for a few moments before asking, “So, what are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know,” Wolf replied. “Keep movin’, I reckon. Maybe move on up into Montana, up in Blackfoot country. There can’t be gold everywhere.”
Ned continued to study the disillusioned young man for a while before deciding to ignore his principle of minding his own business and give Wolf some advice. He had already decided that he liked the free-spirited young man, and he truly wanted to help him. “Ain’t none of my business,” he began, “but are you sure you want a life alone, till you get so feeble you can’t make it on your own anymore, and you just have to lie down and wait for the wolves, or coyotes, to come to start feedin’ off your bones? Hell, if you find someplace where there ain’t no white settlers, where you gonna buy cartridges for that Henry rifle? You’ve already been livin’ by yourself too long. If you don’t like livin’ with white folks, you’d be better off goin’ back to live with the Crows.” He paused to judge the effect his words were having, if any, before suggesting, “Instead of makin’ the army your enemy, you oughta work for ’em. They ain’t likely to find a scout that knows the country better’n you do. At least you might have enough money to keep you in cartridges and other supplies.”
“That don’t make sense,” Wolf said. “The army wants to arrest me. Ain’t that why they sent you after me?”
“I can take care of that,” Ned replied.
“How?”
“I’ll tell Colonel Bradley you’re dead, tell him I had to shoot you. If you was to buy you some decent clothes, somethin’ that didn’t look like you sewed ’em yourself, and cut that long hair, maybe grow a mustache, that would help a lot. Hell, I bet ol’ Bradley wouldn’t know the difference. I doubt he has much to do with the scouts he’s got now. We’d have to change your name, though. Wolf ain’t a fittin’ name for you, anyway. What is your real name? Do you remember?”
“Course I do,” Wolf replied. “It’s Tom Logan. I wasn’t that young.”
“Tom Logan,” Ned echoed. “Nothin’ wrong with that. Just to make sure, you could stay clear of Fort Laramie, ride on up to Fort Fetterman, and try to get hired up there. I’ll bet you wouldn’t have no trouble signin’ on at Fetterman. They’re always lookin’ for good trackers, and most of the civilian scouts don’t wanna work there because it’s a hard-luck post. Seems like they’re always short of supplies, ain’t no place in the world where the wind blows colder in the winter, and there ain’t nothin’ to keep the soldiers from desertin’ except a hog ranch on the south side of the river—which means a soldier has to swim the river if he wants to see any of the gals at that establishment, since the fort’s on the north side. Whaddaya think?”
Wolf shook his head and frowned. “I don’t know. That don’t sound like the kind of life I could stand for very long. I’ve always worked best by myself.”
“How do you know?” Ned insisted, even more enthusiastic about the plan the more he thought about it. If he had been inclined, he might have recognized the same trait in himself that prompted him to track Wolf down just to see if he could. “You might like scoutin’, and it’d give you a steady paycheck.”
“I reckon I’ll just go on up to Blackfoot country,” he finally decided.
“Well, I’ll be headin’ on back to Fort Laramie in the mornin’,” Ned declared. “You can always change your mind if you decide you’re tired of livin’ like a lone wolf. I’ll tell the colonel you’re dead, anyway. Maybe that’ll make him forget about you.”
True to his word, Ned saddled up the next morning and prepared to head back south. “You’re lookin’ pretty spry for a dead man,” he commented to Wolf as the two of them finished the pot of coffee Ned had made. “I can leave you some of these coffee beans, so you’ll have some for later on.”
“Thanks just the same,” Wolf replied, “but there ain’t much sense in me gettin’ used to havin’ coffee. There ain’t likely any place to get more where I’m goin’.”
They sat in silence for a few long minutes with no sound save that of Ned’s loud sipping of the hot liquid. Ned finally broke the silence. “Well, I expect I’d better get started back. You sure you don’t wanna ride back with me? I’d be glad to swing by Fort Fetterman before I go to Laramie. I’d recommend you to the commanding officer there to hire you on as a scout.”
Wolf could not help giving the idea some serious thought, but it still seemed so foreign to his nature that he had to decline. “I reckon not,” he finally said. Ned nodded his understanding, downed the last drop from his cup, and got to his feet. Wolf followed him to the edge of the water and stood there forming the words he wanted to say while Ned rinsed out his cup. It was not an easy thing for him, but the formidable lawman had given him back his freedom, and he felt obliged to say something to express his gratitude. When Ned stood up from the water’s edge and gave him a friendly grin, Wolf finally blurted out his thanks. “I ’preciate what you’ve done for me. I hope it ain’t gonna get you in any trouble with the army.”
Ned’s grin spread wider over his weathered face. He knew the difficulty Wolf had in expressing his feelings. “Don’t give it a thought,” he replied. “I don’t work for the army, so I don’t have to prove anythin’ to that colonel back at Fort Laramie. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take that Sharps back to show him I actually did catch up with you.” Wolf nodded his approval. “You watch yourself, young feller. You’re liable to run into white men and Sioux Injuns in these hills, and they’re all probably gonna have their fingers on the trigger.”
“I will,” Wolf said. “You watch your back.” He remained standing by the river, watching until Ned rode out of sight. The big lawman had made a definite impression in the short time they had spent together. Wolf could not recall anyone else whom he looked upon with such respect other than Big Knife of the Crows. He wondered anew if he should give more consideration to Ned’s suggestion to seek a scouting job with the soldiers. Could Ned be right? Could he learn to live in the white man’s world, the world of his birth? Then he thought of his fa
ther and mother, something he had not done in many years. And he wondered if they would have wished for him the same as Ned had. He realized then that he had established Ned as more than a friend in his mind. He was more like an uncle—a wise uncle, maybe. I’ll think more on this, he told himself.
Chapter 7
Figuring he had ridden about ten miles, Ned decided to rest his horses at the fork where the Lightning and Cheyenne rivers joined. “This looks like the best spot to take a little rest, Brownie,” he told the red roan, and guided his horses over to a clearing in the brush that lined the river. “We ain’t gonna be here long, just long enough to let you get a drink and maybe a little break from haulin’ my big ass across this prairie.” He left the saddle on while the horse started nibbling at the grass near the water. Wouldn’t mind a little something myself, he thought, and went to his saddlebag to find a strip of jerky he had gotten from Wolf. The deer jerky made him think of the young man he had decided to befriend, and wondered if he was getting softhearted in his old age. Probably should have taken him back like the army wanted me to, he thought. “Nah,” he decided aloud. “They were wrong about that boy. I done the right thing.” Further thoughts were interrupted by a whinny from Brownie, echoed by his packhorse, alerting him to the possibility of company.
Walking up closer to the fork of the two rivers, he soon spotted his visitors. There were two of them, one riding a buckskin, the other on a spotted gray. He remained still, watching to see if they would continue toward him or turn and cross farther downstream. Judging by their gestures to each other, they had also detected his presence, no doubt alerted the same way he had been. It would have suited him just fine if they had made the crossing oblivious of him and continued on their way, but it was too late for that now. So he walked out of the shade of the cottonwoods and let himself be seen. They pulled up when they saw him standing there with his rifle in one hand.
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