by Karen Kay
As she emerged outside, a certain gentleman, a Lieutenant Warrington, ran after her. He was handsome, young, and, she had come to realize, quite persistent. Taking hold of her sleeve, he placed her gloved hand on his arm.
“You’re not leaving already, Miss Clayton, are you?”
“I’m afraid so, Lieutenant.”
“But you can’t do that just yet. It’s not completely polite, now, is it? Not when every man here, including myself, has been waiting all night to dance with you. You must know that we’ve all been lovesick since the day you stepped off that steamboat.”
She smiled faintly, then chuckled. “Lieutenant, how you do flatter me.”
“No, ma’am. Just plain speaking. That’s all. Now, surely you can’t think of disappointing us, can you?”
“I am sorry, but I must,” Alys replied, though she tried to lessen any possible blow from her words by bestowing the man with a kind smile.
However, instead of being discouraged, the lieutenant gave her a big grin, obviously quite heartened. “You really should stay,” he coaxed. “What must I do to convince you?”
Alys scrutinized Lieutenant Warrington’s set features. At any other time, she might have allowed herself to be coaxed into doing exactly as this man asked, his gift for persuasion excellent. But she couldn’t give in. At least not tonight. And truly, at this moment, her attention could not have been further removed from the party and from these people.
“Thank you kindly, Lieutenant Warrington, you are most generous, indeed. But you must know that I can’t stay. My mother lies ill at home, and I cannot allow her to be alone for long.”
“But she’s not alone, is she?” he asserted. “Doesn’t that half-breed Mary stay with her at night and look after her?”
“Yes, that is true, but—”
“Then you needn’t return, after all. Not yet anyway. Stay a little longer.” He glanced away from her, out into the night. “Look around you, Miss Clayton, at the evening, at the multitude of stars up there”—he motioned toward the sky—“and tell me that you haven’t missed your home here in Montana.”
Alys grinned and shook her head. The lieutenant could certainly be determined. “Yes,” she replied, “but still…”
The lieutenant picked a bloom from a nearby lilac bush and twirled it delicately under Alys’s nose. “It must have been difficult being away for so long.”
Alys nodded. “It was.”
“And how did you find the east?”
“It was most…fashionable.” She inhaled deeply, the fragrances of the night, the delicate blooms, the wildflowers, and the prairie grasses acting like an intoxication.
He chuckled softly. “Ah, it is that. It certainly is fashionable.”
Alys moved a little farther away from him, from the ballroom. Sighing she realized that she’d forgotten how cool and crisp the air was here, how solid the earth felt beneath her feet, how redolent the wind. And above her, as she looked up, a million stars splashed across the sky, twinkling as though they hadn’t a care.
Oh, how she had missed this, the howling serenades of the wolves so far away, yet so close; the crisp barking of coyotes, the peculiar song of the crickets. She asked the lieutenant, “Do you yearn for your own home very much?”
“Me? What? Oh, you mean the east?”
“Hmmm,” Alys replied. She might have said more, but she was silenced by the more unpleasant sound of gunshots—off in the distance. Lieutenant Warrington stiffened and muttered a barely audible curse under his breath.
Uniformed men suddenly appeared from out of nowhere, rushing past them, all cursing a certain personage.
“Damn! It’s the Wolf Shadow!” Lieutenant Warrington swore. “Pardon my language, ma’am.”
Alys nodded, unoffended. She had grown up in this town, after all, and had become used to the crudeness of the language. She did ask, however, “The Wolf Shadow?”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s what Indians call him.”
“Wolf Shadow? Is that the Indian who has all the townspeople talking?”
“That’s him.”
More men, armed civilians, filed past them.
“I heard he’s made quite a nuisance of himself here at the fort, this Wolf Shadow.”
“Yes, Miss Clayton, he has.”
“I also heard that no one has been able to trace him, where he comes from, where he goes. Is that correct?”
“Hmmm, maybe…” The lieutenant looked somewhat annoyed.
“Has he hurt anyone?”
“No, not yet anyway, though it’s only a matter of time. He hurts us by these constant skirmishes, though.”
“How do you mean?”
“He attacks the bull trains that pass between here and our Canadian allies. He dumps out all our supplies, causing the merchants in town to take more and more of a loss. It’s why the military was dispatched here. To put an end to these raids and protect the cattlemen and merchants.”
“Hmmm, I see,” she said, then asked, “What is on these trains that he should attack them?”
The lieutenant drew in a steady, deep breath. “That is the mystery of it all, Miss Clayton. The trains carry no more than trade stocks for the Indians. Food and utensils, beads and blankets.”
“How odd,” she responded. “Why does he strike them, I wonder?”
The lieutenant shook his head. “No one knows.”
She hesitated a moment. “He is Indian, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is.”
“You are certain?”
“We are not sure of anything. But if he isn’t Indian, someone has certainly mastered the art of Indian warfare.”
“How…interesting. And there are no tracks, nothing to follow to give an indication as to who he is?”
“Miss Clayton, rest assured, if there were tracks to follow, I would have caught the scoundrel by now.”
“Of course,” she offered, “of course you would.”
He sighed deeply. “I am sorry, Miss Clayton, if I sounded irritated just now, it’s only that—”
“Think nothing of it.”
“Thank you, Miss Clayton. This villain has been playing havoc with us.” The lieutenant shifted his weight.
“You do have good scouts, don’t you, lieutenant?”
He looked momentarily distracted, then without warning, he suddenly turned on her, challenging, “Do I look so incompetent, Miss Clayton, that you ply me with all these questions? Do I appear to you to be the sort of man to let a single criminal pass through my fingers?”
“Of course not,” she was quick to answer, taken somewhat aback by the lieutenant’s flare of anger.
He continued, “I have done and am doing all I can to catch this thief.”
“I’m certain that you are.” She sneaked a quick glance at the lieutenant. “But don’t your scouts find his tracks? Shouldn’t it be easier to find him if they could—”
“He leaves no tracks. And the Indians are afraid of him, think he has some ‘medicine’ that will harm them if they betray him…that is, all except for one drunken loafer who…well, never mind, Miss Clayton, I’m sure I’m boring you.”
“Not in the least,” she smiled, wondering at the same time if the lieutenant realized that it sounded as if this Wolf Shadow was the winner in these little tests of will.
She would have voiced her thoughts aloud, but the lieutenant muttered, “If you would excuse me, Miss Clayton, I have matters to attend to. Although,” he turned to her with a strained smile, “I must admit to a desire to stand here in the moonlight with you all evening. But I am afraid that I am needed out there.”
Alys nodded as she murmured, “Of course.”
“I will call on you tomorrow,” he said, before sauntering away, aggravation clearly marking his gait.
Alys watched the lieutenant’s retreating back for several moments and wondered, not about Lieutenant Warrington’s behavior but about this man called the Wolf Shadow.
Since returning to Fort Benton, Alys had
heard nothing but complaints about this Wolf Shadow who, if the townspeople were to be believed, seemed to have nothing better to do than attack honest merchants and prey upon “innocent” prairie schooners. Already she had heard stories about the man, but, prone to discount gossip, she hadn’t given it much consideration…until now.
An Indian attacking the bull trains full of supplies for his own people? How very strange.
Yet, there must be some truth to the rumors…
The lieutenant had just confirmed what Alys had already overheard: that this Shadow was more ghost than human. This was supposed to explain, she assumed, why no one had a defense against him.
Distractedly, Alys gazed off in the distance, the figure of Lieutenant Warrington now no more than a faint speck. More shots were fired; that, along with the flash of light and the sounds of shouting, attested to the struggle.
What did this Wolf Shadow look like? she wondered. Would he be dressed like a warrior? Or was he more half-breed?
And why was he called Wolf Shadow? Why wolf?
She took a step forward, wanting to go there, to be there, to see.
Still, she hesitated. She really shouldn’t go closer, she would only be in the way, yet…
She took another step forward and paused. Perhaps she should just go home and see to her mother.
Yet, as the lieutenant had pointed out, her mother had hired Mary, an elderly Indian woman who stayed with her and nursed her. Alys wasn’t needed, wouldn’t be missed at home, at least not for some time.
Something drew her toward the fight, something…
Without further thought, Alys reached down, picked up the blue faille of her underskirt, and rushed to the scene of the fight, following the lieutenant’s trail.
She dashed right up to the perimeters of the struggle, where the noisy din of the gunfire, the smell of gunpowder, and the occasional bursts of light reached out to her long before she could see the action. It was dark, also; much too dark.
Raising her hand to shield her eyes, she strained to see. Nothing, until all at once, she made out the figure of a man running—or was it animal?
There, under the shadowy beams of the moon, she could just make out the silhouette of a man, naked to the waist and…wearing a wolf headdress.
But what an uneven fight this was. The odds were impossible. One lone man and what? A dog? No…it was a wolf that loped alongside him.
How curious.
One man and one wolf against what? Twenty or thirty men?
Wolf Shadow appeared to be the lesser in the matter of firearms, too. Barely a shot came from the rifle he held in his hand.
Yet it didn’t seem to matter. He and his canine companion put up an offense that was meticulously planned. The Shadow fought no one unless he had to, the focus of his attention centered on the bull wagons and their cargo. Slashing the merchandise, dumping the contents of jugs on the ground, the man flew from one wagon to the next, fighting off soldiers and bullets with a shield, or with pure dodging, but he attacked few people, his sights set only on the cargo.
How magnificent.
Why such destruction of supplies slated to go to the Indians? If the lieutenant were to be believed—and Alys had no reason to doubt him—the supplies contained nothing more than food and blankets. Was this Wolf Shadow daft?
Perhaps.
Yet, watching him, Alys could do little more than stare…and admire…
Strong in body, lean and tall, he could only have been described as brave and courageous, fighting under such poor odds. Yet, he did not cease his activity until he had managed to ruin every schooner full of cargo. Then, suddenly and with seeming ease, the man faded from sight, though the wolf remained behind, high up on one of the wagons, silhouetted against the moon, howling, as though it would guard the man’s departure.
Bullets fired, missed.
And then nothing.
The wolf had gone, as had the man.
Amazing. Alys pinched herself. Had it been real?
Curses, all in English, rang through the air, a few more stray bullets followed, voices off in the distance ordering others to pursue the man. But what trail had he left? No one seemed to be looking, not even the few Indian scouts…all had turned their attention to the liquid contents of the bull train, now seeping into the dry ground.
Gradually, the men moved off. But not so Alys. She couldn’t budge, feeling as immovable as a statue.
Spellbound, she could barely breathe; even then, she had to remind herself to do so. She’d never seen anything like it. Why did the man fight so determinedly? What purpose did it serve?
She forced herself to come alive, to move closer, slowing her pace to a stop as the whiff of something strong and acidic hit her nostrils. What was it? The stench of whiskey?
She took a few more steps, telling herself that it could not be.
Again…she sniffed the air. There was no mistaking it.
Surely the fort, the merchants, and the military were not involved in whiskey trading, were they? Not with the new laws. It was too fantastic.
It was a well-known fact that the Indians could not tolerate liquor, that fights ensued after a binge of drinking. Something terrible always happened, and the Indians themselves, when sober, grieved over what they had done. Alys had grown up listening to the tales of the fights and the deaths that had occurred because of the Indians’ use of alcohol and the traders’ insistence on selling it to them.
But the government had clamped down on all that. Or so she had been led to believe.
Stunned, Alys went from wagon to wagon, examining each shipment, a certain nausea beginning to build within her. Was the military aware of this? They must be. It would be impossible to miss an odor such as this. Yet if they were, why wasn’t something being done?
She would find Lieutenant Warrington, she decided with sudden vigor. And she would discover the truth, if she could. Lifting her head, she picked up the hem of her dress intending to move away, when she noticed something peculiar and dark on the bottom of her skirts. It wasn’t simply the usual dirt from the street. What was it?
She bent down and removed her gloves, running her finger over the hem. It was some sort of sticky substance…she lifted her hand high against the moonlight. Mud? She sniffed it. No, not mud. Blood—fresh, red blood.
Whose? The soldiers’? Not unless a bullet had found the wrong target. The Wolf Shadow had fired almost no shots.
That meant it could only be…
Alys examined the ground.
A fresh pool of blood. How the soldiers and hired scouts had missed this she didn’t know.
Alys glanced around her, barely breathing. She moved over the bloody mess until her skirts completely covered it, then she shuffled her feet in the dirt.
“Miss Clayton, what are you doing out here?”
Startled, Alys glanced up, only to find Lieutenant Warrington staring down at her. Had he seen her and what she had found? She didn’t know why, but some instinct told her to hide her discovery. Pushing her glove into her hand and hiding it behind her back, she forced herself to smile brightly as she explained, “I wanted to see the Wolf Shadow for myself.”
“For yourself? You, a woman?” he snorted. “My dear, this is much too dangerous a place for a lady.” His voice became softer, though his tone continued to patronize. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Alys lifted her chin. “Why not?”
“Because,” he glared at her as though she were a naughty child. “Because you are a woman. And being female, you are too weak, and unarmed. And because—”
“Lieutenant Warrington, I have just discovered something that I think you should know.”
“Have you?” he asked, his manner condescending. “And what would that be, m’dear?”
The “my dear” grated on her nerves. However, she held her peace, asking only, “Did you know that the merchants in this town are sending whiskey to the Indians?”
The lieutenant had the grace to look sheepish. �
�Miss Clayton, I don’t believe you know what you’re saying.”
“Don’t I? Have you lost your sense of smell, Lieutenant? Here, stand still for a moment. The stench is unforgettable.”
“There is a tavern around the corner. Perhaps what you smell is—”
“I know what I see right here, dripping from this wagon, from that one, too.” She pointed.
The lieutenant took her arm. “You see nothing, Miss Clayton. Nothing at all. Now come, I will escort you home. You should forget about all this.”
Alys did not budge; she couldn’t, not without uncovering a trail of evidence. She snapped her arm away from the lieutenant. “Lieutenant Warrington, don’t you understand? The merchants are trading whiskey to the Indians.”
Lieutenant Warrington gave her a blank stare.
“But then, I guess you probably know that, don’t you?” The lieutenant made another reach for her, which Alys deftly avoided. “If you please, I think I’ll find my own way home, thank you.”
“Miss Clayton, really, you are making too much of this. Liquor, in modest quantities, has always been traded to the Indians. It is nothing new.”
“But I thought the government had forbidden—”
“Forbidden? And what do you know of the laws?”
“I don’t know them as well as you, I am sure. But I do know enough to realize that this shipment is illegal.”
“Illegal? I think not, Miss Clayton. If the merchants were doing something criminal, the military would act on it at once. Trading a little liquor is hardly illegal.”
Alys’s head reeled slightly. Hadn’t she recently heard of new liquor laws when she had been back east? “But I thought that the government had…I thought the military was here to protect both the Indians and the settlers.”
“And we are. We do. I can see that you don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t. How can you protect the Indians when you allow the merchants to sell liquor to them? It’s well known that liquor disrupts their culture.”
“Miss Clayton…Alys, the Indians have no culture and I have little enough time to stand here and educate you on the business of the military. Especially when I would rather be discussing other, more pleasant things.”
