Day of the Wolf

by Charles G. West

  “He’s right,” Marvin said. “He knows what I’m sayin’ is the best thing for him. He’ll be a lot better off outta here. That fellow’s brothers will be lookin’ for him for sure.”

  “I think they were already lookin’ for him,” one of the spectators remarked as he stepped back to give them room to pass. “There was a feller at the poker table last night that said him and his two brothers were in town lookin’ for somebody. I asked him if it was family he was lookin’ for, and he just laughed and said, ‘Not hardly.’ ”

  Rose and Lorena exchanged concerned glances. “Why would someone be looking for you?” Rose asked as she struggled to keep Wolf upright when they got him out the door.

  “I don’t know,” Wolf replied painfully. “Just get me on my horse.”

  “They’re right,” Lorena suddenly decided, now that she had more of the story. “He’s got a better chance out where he knows what to do. Let’s set him down in this chair while we tie up that wound.” Turning to Marvin then, she said, “Get me some of those bar towels you’ve got under the counter—clean ones. Don’t give me any you’ve cleaned the bar with, and bring me a bottle of whiskey.”

  “Those towels cost me money,” Marvin complained. “Whiskey ain’t free, either. Who’s gonna pay for all that?”

  Lorena paused long enough to send him a scathing glare. “I know you’re fixin’ to volunteer,” she said sarcastically, “but I’ll pay for the damn stuff. Now go get it.” He went without further complaint while Lorena resumed her control of the situation. She pulled her skirt up again and finished ripping the skirt of her petticoat all the way around. Starting a tear with her teeth, she then ripped the skirt into strips to tie the bandage on.

  Worried about the time wasted, Billie Jean spoke just above a whisper to Lorena. “He needs to be outta here before somebody gets the word to that bastard’s brothers.”

  “I know it,” Lorena replied, “but we need to slap a bandage on that wound that’ll stop some of that bleedin’.”

  Billie Jean understood what Lorena was saying, but she didn’t have much confidence in Wolf’s chances. “He ain’t gonna make it on his own. I don’t care if he is part wolf.”

  “I’m going with him,” Rose announced. “Billie Jean’s right. He needs somebody to take care of him.”

  Lorena turned to give the young girl a skeptical stare. “I don’t think you know what you’re takin’ on.”

  “I’m going with him,” she repeated.

  Both Lorena and Billie Jean looked hard at the girl. It was obvious to both that it was going to be wasted breath to try to talk her out of it. “Well, I reckon you’re old enough to know what you wanna do,” Lorena said. Marvin arrived then with the bar towels and the whiskey. “We’ve got to hurry. If you’re goin’ with Wolf, you’d better run get some more clothes and whatever else you think you’ll need.” She didn’t have to say it twice.

  As anxious as he was to escape to the wilds, he knew that he needed the care they could give him at this moment, for he was already fighting to keep his wits about him. Although he kept telling himself that it was just a slug buried deep in his side, he was feeling weaker by the moment, and he knew that flight was his only defense against these strangers who had come to kill him. So he sat quietly while Lorena and Billie Jean removed his shirt, only flinching slightly when a generous slug of whiskey was poured over the wound. By the time they had tied the bandage around him, Rose was back with a cloth bag that held her belongings. She had changed to the trousers and coat she had worn during their journey from Fort Laramie. He would have protested against her accompanying him, but he didn’t feel like making the argument. The bandaging done, they got him on his feet again and walked him out to his horses.

  “Try not to pull on that bandage too much,” Lorena advised as she and Billie Jean helped him get a foot up in the stirrup. The bay horse, suspicious of the party of people approaching him, sidestepped away from them at first, but settled down when Wolf scolded him. “Ready?” Lorena asked when he got a hand on the saddle horn. He said he was, so all three women got up under his behind and pushed him up in the saddle. “You all right?” Lorena asked. “You gonna be able to stay on?” He nodded. “Well, move your foot outta the stirrup for a minute till we get Rose up behind you.” The slender young girl was a much easier task for the two buxom women, and Rose was settled up behind the saddle. She put her arms around him. Lorena placed her hand on Rose’s leg. “Honey, I know you’re doin’ what you think you should. You just be careful. You hear?”

  “I will, Lorena. I’ll take care of him. Then I’ll come back when he gets well—unless he wants me to stay with him.”

  The two prostitutes stepped back up on the short strip of boardwalk to watch the two young people ride away toward the lower end of the gulch. “I hope to hell she’s doing the right thing,” Billie Jean said. “I’m afraid there ain’t nothing but a world of hurt with a man like that, living like he lives—like a damn Injun.” She turned to face Lorena. “And what if he don’t recover from that wound? What if he dies and leaves Rose out in some godforsaken wilderness?”

  “That would be bad, all right,” Lorena replied. “But I’ve got a lot of faith in that man, and I think he’ll do whatever he can to protect Rose.” She paused a moment. “As long as they can stay hid long enough for him to get well.”

  They remained there on the stoop, watching until the two horses and their riders disappeared in the growing darkness before returning to the noisy saloon to find Marvin spreading sawdust over the several puddles of blood on the floor. “It wouldn’t hurt you to help clean up the mess your friend made,” he said.

  “It wasn’t our friend that put that blood all over the floor,” Billie Jean responded. “It was that fellow lying back there in the corner. Talk to him.”

  “Where the hell is Boyd?” Buck, obviously annoyed, asked Skinner. “I told him we were gonna head up the gulch this afternoon.”

  “The Star of Deadwood,” Skinner announced grandly. “He’s got an eye for that young little whore there, and you know how the women can work Brother Boyd for every cent he’s got.”

  “That saloon’s way down at the bottom of the gulch,” Buck complained. “He’d better be on his way back here right now, ’cause I ain’t plannin’ on waitin’ around here while he gets his tater cooked.”

  Skinner laughed. “That mighta been ol’ Boyd shootin’ up the place,” he said, referring to the shots they had heard from that direction. “That gal mighta been busy, and you know how irritated Boyd gets if he don’t get his way.”

  “I oughta bust a limb across his behind,” Buck said. They had searched every store and saloon on that end of Deadwood, with no sign of the man called Wolf, and Buck was ready to move on up the gulch to the next little settlement. Their search had gone on for too long and had reached a point where Boyd was beginning to lose interest in the chase. With every passing day that yielded no progress in their hunt, Buck grew increasingly anxious to satisfy his desire for a kill, and he had no patience for Boyd’s dallying. He stewed over the decision to wait for his brother or go on and leave it to Boyd to catch up as best he could. Finally he decided. “Let’s go on back there and get him. The damn fool might not ever find us if we don’t.”

  “I reckon,” Skinner said, laughing again. He knew Buck wouldn’t leave without Boyd. He was just letting off steam. They stepped up in their saddles and turned back toward the Star of Deadwood.

  Twenty minutes at a steady lope brought them to the busy collection of huts, tents, and rough buildings that made up the center of the town of Deadwood. Forced to slow their horses to a walk because of the congestion of horses, wagons, and a bull train, they continued on until within fifty yards of the Star. “Just like I figured,” Buck said. “Yonder’s Boyd’s horse tied up at the hitchin’ post, and us settin’ up there waitin’ on him. I’m gonna thump his ass for sure.” He gave his horse a kick with his heels and hurried it along to the saloon, where he pulled in beside Boyd�
��s sorrel and dismounted. Skinner guided his horse in on the other side of Boyd’s and stepped down. The two of them were about to step up on the narrow stoop when the door opened and four men came out carrying a body.

  “I reckon that’s what them shots was about,” Skinner commented with a grin as he and Buck stood aside to give the four men room. In the next instant, the two brothers froze when they gazed down at the corpse and recognized it as Boyd’s.

  Buck grabbed the arm of the man holding Boyd’s left leg, almost causing him to lose his grip. “What the hell?” the man exclaimed as he scrambled to keep from dropping his share of the load. He had started to offer Buck a piece of his mind until he saw the unbridled fury in Buck’s eyes and thought better of it.

  “Who did this?” Buck demanded. All four men turned to look at Marvin Sloan, who had followed them out the door.

  “Hold on, mister,” Marvin exclaimed in reaction to the accusing glare in Buck’s eyes. “It ain’t the fault of anybody here. The fellow that done this is long gone.”

  “Somebody better start tellin’ me what happened to my brother,” Skinner demanded, “and I mean right now.”

  With all eyes still focused upon him, Marvin hurried to assure the two sinister-looking strangers that he was in no way implicated. “We’re all awful sorry for what happened to your brother, but it was between him and another fellow. Didn’t nobody else have nothin’ to do with it. And the fellow that done the shootin’ took off.”

  “He had to sneak up on Boyd to put them two bullet holes in him,” Buck said, his voice low and accusing as he suddenly cranked a cartridge into the chamber of the Winchester he was clutching tightly. “Who done it?”

  “It was a fellow named Wolf,” Marvin blurted, at once afraid Buck was going to start shooting indiscriminately to vent the anger obviously working up to a boiling point inside him. “And he’s done gone, took off right after he shot him.”

  “The low-down son of a bitch,” Skinner growled, almost beside himself when he heard the name of the killer. Wolf, the man they had searched for so long, and now they had to add the name of their own brother to the list of his victims. “He had to bushwhack Boyd, or he’da never got the jump on him,” he said to Buck.

  “Your brother got off a couple of shots,” one of the men carrying the body offered in the hope of providing some consolation to the two irate strangers. “He was wounded pretty bad when he took off.”

  Over the initial shock that had paralyzed him for a few moments, Buck began to think clearly. It couldn’t have been much more than half an hour after they heard the shots when he and Skinner started back down the gulch heading to the Star. Wolf couldn’t be that far ahead of them, and if he was wounded, he might not be in any shape for hard riding. “Which way did he head out of here?” Buck demanded.

  “Yonder way,” one of the men replied, pointing toward the lower end of the gulch.

  Buck cocked his head toward the man and asked, “What kinda horse was he ridin’?”

  “I don’t know,” the man said.

  “He was ridin’ a bay and leadin’ a red roan,” another man volunteered, eager to appear helpful, since both brothers were still threatening with rifles ready to fire at the first sign of hesitancy on the part of anyone questioned. “And there was a whore went with him.”

  “Ain’t nobody mentioned the fact that your brother took the first shot.” Standing in the doorway, watching the drama unfolding, Lorena wasn’t going to let them omit that fact. “Your brother tried to shoot Wolf in the back, without no warnin’ or nothin’—just out-and-out murder was what he was tryin’ to do. But he got killed instead.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Buck asked.

  “Somebody who saw the whole thing happen,” Lorena replied. “And I know for a fact that Wolf didn’t know your brother from Adam, and he sure as hell had no reason to shoot him except to defend himself.”

  “That son of a bitch is gonna know us before this is over,” Buck snarled. “He’ll learn the same lesson anybody else learns that messes with the Dawson family.” He was in the process of getting worked up to administer a dose of punishment to the mettlesome whore when Skinner spoke to remind him that they were wasting time while Wolf was getting away. “Right,” Buck responded. “Let’s get goin’.”

  “What about Boyd?” Skinner asked. “Ain’t we gonna take care of him?”

  Concerned only with catching up with Wolf at that point, Buck paused to stare at the corpse of his late brother, which was still being held off the ground by the four men. “Boyd would want us to get the man that murdered him,” he said. “There ain’t nothin’ we can do for him now.” Thinking to appease Skinner, he asked Marvin, “Where were you takin’ him?”

  “To the undertaker for a decent burial,” Marvin quickly replied, although his initial instructions to the four volunteers had been: “Haul his ass outta my place, and dump him somewhere far enough away so we don’t smell the stink.”

  “All right,” Buck said, satisfied. “When we get done with his killer, I’m comin’ back to see that he’s been took care of proper. If he ain’t, I’ll be takin’ it outta your hide.”

  “Yes, sir,” Marvin said. “We’ll see that he’s given a proper restin’ place. Course, there’ll be some expense involved that you may wanna settle with the undertaker.” His remark caused Buck to glower menacingly in his direction, prompting Marvin to quickly retreat. “But that’s somethin’ for a later time.” He took a step back. “We’ll take good care of your brother.” In the saddle then, the two Dawson brothers rode down the narrow street toward the lower end of the gulch, following the one road that led to the hills north of the town. Marvin watched them until sure they were gone for good, then instructed the four pallbearers to take Boyd’s body to the barber, who was also the undertaker. “Tell him to bury him and put some kind of tombstone on the grave. Tell him his brothers will pay him when they return.” He paused, then added, “And tell him I ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”

  Chapter 12

  Rose could feel the blood seeping through the layers of Lorena’s petticoat bandage wrapped around Wolf’s waist, and she was afraid the life was going to drain out of him before they could reach a place of safety. She had no experience in treating wounds, but she felt certain that he desperately needed to rest, to lie still, and maybe the blood would stop pumping from the wound. She pleaded with him to stop and let her make camp so she could try to do what she could to take care of him. But he continued on, refusing to stop until he found a place that suited him. He was not sure who was chasing him—even if they would be coming after him at all—but he knew he was in no condition to fight them. Someone had said the man he had killed had brothers and would be seeking revenge. It was all a mass confusion in his brain, helped not at all by the growing feeling of dizziness, probably from the loss of blood. The fact that Rose was riding in the saddle behind him was puzzling as well. He could not say why she had insisted upon coming with him, but he had not felt strong enough about it to resist, and he was convinced now that, without her, he might not have been able to remain upright in the saddle.

  Rose could not understand why he would not stop to let her tend his wound. They had crossed several streams that looked to be suitable places to camp since leaving the road that led to Spearfish and turning back into the heart of the mountains. Still Wolf pushed on. “What are you looking for?” Rose finally asked.

  “I’ll know it when I see it,” Wolf answered weakly, not sure himself, and unable to explain the natural animal instincts that drove him to retreat to his den to heal. He wanted to reach his permanent camp deep in the mountains by the waterfall, but he knew he was not going to make it, for it was a day’s ride from Deadwood, and he was already spent. Finally, when images before his eyes began to alter in their shapes, and the dark pines seemed to have developed fuzzy outlines, he knew there was little time left before he would be useless in selecting a camp. Moments later, when following a game trail, and coming to anot
her sizable stream, he uttered one word, “Here,” and turned the bay’s head up the stream, even as he began to lean heavily in the saddle.

  Not sure if he was dead or just unconscious, Rose held him tightly to prevent his falling from the saddle. Equally frightened and determined, she let the bay continue up the slope, following the stream, until she came to a small clearing about two hundred yards up the side of the mountain. “This will have to do,” she announced, and drew back on the reins. While trying to steady Wolf in the saddle, she slid off the horse and prepared to help him down. Bracing herself to catch his weight, she gave a gentle pull on his arm. The weight was too much for her. She collapsed under his body, and they both went sprawling on the ground. The jolt seemed to revive him somewhat—enough to express concern for his horses. “Unsaddle the horses,” he said feebly.

  Pulling herself out from under him, she told him, “The horses can wait till I take care of you.” Taking charge then, she paused a moment to evaluate the spot they had landed in, and decided it was as good a place as any to make his bed. He was too much for her to move without help, anyway, so the decision was not that difficult. Relieved to see that the bleeding appeared to have slowed down, she refolded the bandage to press a dry portion over the wound. “Do you have a blanket?” she asked then.

  “Pack,” he answered.

  She waited a moment to see if he was going to say more. When he did not elaborate, she went to the packhorse and looked through the packs without success before realizing that his one blanket was rolled and tied behind the packsaddle. She untied it and spread it over him. “That’ll help you till I can find something to make a fire,” she told him. “When I unsaddle your horse, I’ll put the saddle blanket under you.” He placed his hand on the small deerskin pouch on his belt. Understanding, she untied the pouch and found flint and steel among the items inside. She had seen him build enough fires to know what they were for. Glancing back at the packhorse, she was at once thankful for the quantity of smoked venison Brownie was carrying, for she was not confident of her ability to hunt for food—and he was going to need plenty of good meat to build up his blood.