by Karen Kay
“Oh?” She tried to keep herself from physically recoiling.
“Yes,” he suddenly grinned at her, “like the way the moonlight makes your brown hair shimmer, makes your dark eyes sparkle.”
Alys felt her body go rigid under the compliment. While only a short while ago she might have delighted in hearing this man declare such devotion, right now such waxed enthusiasm sent shivers of revulsion running along her nerve endings.
She squared her shoulders. “Please, Lieutenant, we leave the point, which is the sale of liquor.”
“Yes, but that’s not so bad, is it?” Again, he grinned at her. “To leave the point?”
Alys took a deep breath. “I hope you don’t mind if I speak my mind.”
He shrugged. “By all means, do.”
Alys nodded. “It seems to me, Lieutenant, that if the merchants are trading illegal liquor to the Indians, then this Wolf Shadow is within the boundaries of the law in what he is doing and should be praised by the military, not shot at.”
The lieutenant’s stance became decidedly tense. He cleared his throat. “I can see that pleasantries with you will get me nowhere. You seem to be stuck on this one subject. Very well. Now, Miss Clayton…Alys, need I remind you that it is the Indians who are making the west rough and uncivilized? They raid, steal horses, kill women and children. Now, as I see it, my job here is to protect the townspeople from any such Indian attacks. And this, tonight, was an Indian attack.”
“Upon merchandise?” she countered, her temper rising. “I hardly think so. From my position here, I didn’t even see the man fire but a few shots. And as far as the raiding and stealing, aren’t you forgetting the recent Baker massacre? Wasn’t it the military who was doing the killing of Indian women and children then?”
The lieutenant shook his head. “What have they been teaching you back east? Leave it to those soft city folk to get the thing all wrong. Now, I think you are mistaken, Miss Clayton. That Baker raid was against warriors, that is all.”
“Yes,” she said, “so I heard. The warriors had left some old men and boys in that camp of women and children, while they were out on a buffalo hunt, isn’t that right?”
The lieutenant’s body stiffened, his hands clenched at his side, and for a moment, he looked as though he might like to strike her. At length, however, he volunteered, “I won’t argue this with you any further, Miss Clayton.” His words were clipped. “I can see that either your mother or the good people of the east have tainted your outlook upon the honest citizens of this town.”
She pulled a face. “Somehow, I’m not convinced.”
“Convinced? Of what?”
“Of that so-called honesty.”
He tsked, tsked. “Come now, Miss Clayton. You should have more faith. You clearly don’t understand the politics of the west and, truth to tell, I don’t have the time to enlighten you. At least not now.”
“No,” she agreed, “you’re right. Now, Lieutenant, if you will excuse me.” She made to step around him, hoping to capture his attention, distracting his gaze from the ground and what she was certain was a trail.
He didn’t watch her, however. Someone had called to him, demanding his attention, and he had already turned away from her.
Alys breathed a sigh of relief and, quickly scanning the area around her, stepped out of the light and away from the blood. She calmed slightly. She had managed to cover up the evidence fairly well.
But if there had been a pool of blood here, it made sense that there would also be a trail to follow. No wounded man would be able to keep from making one.
Trying to look as demure as possible, Alys studied the ground. She knew something about following trails, thanks to her rather unorthodox upbringing.
Luckily the tracks seemed to lead in the same direction as her home, and Alys, kicking dirt over the imprints as she went, began to follow the bloody signs, hopefully not looking too obvious in doing so.
Meanwhile, Lieutenant Warrington, having settled his business as well as he was able, came back to where he had left Alys, only to find her gone. He scanned the area in all directions, but to no avail.
He could go after her, he supposed, discover where she had gone. But he wouldn’t. At least not tonight.
“Damn easterners,” he murmured aloud. “They’ve tainted her.”
And with nothing more to be said on the matter, the lieutenant trotted off in the direction of the tavern.
It was still early evening. The excitement in town had died down, the main talk of those around her, as she passed by them, being that of the ruined shipment and not of the man who had upset it. No one seemed to take much interest in her either, if they even saw her, and she relaxed. It appeared she would be allowed to complete her task without interference.
Despite her misgivings, she followed the trail left by this ephemeral creature, this Wolf Shadow, as it wound behind the fort’s military barracks. Through dark alleyways, she continued to follow the trail even when it seemed the markings had almost disappeared. And whenever she found traces of the man’s passage, of his blood, she covered it with dirt and straightened any nearby grass, that no one else might find it. On and on she tracked, toward the back of the fort—toward her own home.
“My home?” she mumbled under her breath.
Taken slightly aback, she kept on, the trail taking her directly to…her house. Could it be that the man had scaled the adobe bastion and the walls that stood at her backyard?
It would seem doubtful that a single man could accomplish such a feat, and yet, the tracks wound toward her house. She followed those imprints, barely able to believe it when they led right to her own cellar…
Alys glanced around her, mystified.
No one knew about the secrets of her cellar. Only her mother and herself…plus, she reminded herself, one small Indian boy and girl from so long ago…an Indian boy who would now be a man.
Alys shook herself, as though that action might clear her mind. Was it possible that this Wolf Shadow might be the boy she had once helped? Not likely. That lad, if he were wise, would have long since put as much distance as possible between himself and the fort.
Still, the thought that this Wolf Shadow might be the youth she had once known caused her heart to skip a beat.
Unwittingly, she touched her cheek.
“And now a part of you is a part of me.”
She had never forgotten. Nor had she easily put aside her childish infatuation. She could even now call back to mind the image of the young Indian as he had been, his tanned body strong and lean, his dark eyes warm with kindness and respect for her.
She stood still, momentarily lost in her own thoughts. At length, she shook herself.
What utter foolishness. She had long ago put away her schoolgirl crushes, had grown up and dismissed such things as nothing more than childish dreams. Although without realizing that she did it, she even now fingered the outline of the necklace she always wore, there beneath her bodice—a single shell, suspended from a bleached white buckskin chain.
Becoming suddenly aware of what she was doing, she drew her hands to her sides and determinedly stared back toward the ground, concentrating and looking more closely for the trail. Ah, sure enough, there it was…heading directly to her cellar.
A wave of remorse rushed over her, perhaps for things that could have been, but the emotion was quickly replaced by anger. This was her cellar, these were her caves and caverns. No one was allowed here.
Her anger overriding her caution, Alys pulled up the cellar doors. If someone else were using her caves, she meant to find out about it.
Pushing her skirt between her legs, she climbed down into the darkness, quickly finding the rug that was supposed to hide the false bottom of the floor. However, the rug had already been pulled back, the opening of the caves revealed. She breathed out a sigh and, bending down, swiftly negotiated the ladder, vaulting down to the hard rock floor of the caves, the coldness of the ground seeping into her slippers. Comp
lete and utter blackness engulfed her, but such a thing meant nothing to her. She picked up the lantern that always hung there and lit it, its flicker splattering light across the thick, solid boulders. Shadows appeared and disappeared on those walls, but she ignored them. She held no fear of these caves.
These were her caverns. Hers and her mother’s alone.
She would ensure they remained that way. Grabbing a shovel, she proceeded cautiously.
Chapter 3
Perhaps an amateur might have been disoriented by the blackness of the caves. Not so, Alys. She followed the trail of blood easily and found that the man’s path kept to the main cavern, not diverging off into some of the lesser used passages.
As she moved farther and farther into the tunnels, she calmed down somewhat and became more determined to confront the intruder. But as she did so, the coolness of the underground caverns seeped into her. Perhaps she had been unwise to come here without a warmer wrap, but it was too late now to go back.
She grimaced. The man, this Wolf Shadow, was going nowhere, not if this trail of blood held any indication of his condition. A feeling of premonition swept over her. What if this man and the boy Moon Wolf were truly one and the same and she got to him too late?
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, two golden eyes appeared in front of her. It had to be the wolf who accompanied the man. Would the animal attack? She had no time to ponder the question, however, or even to feel fear. If she were running into his pet, she knew the man himself was close-by.
The animal soon gave her to understand that it meant her no harm. Instead of growling or attacking, it whined, coming up close to her, then pushing away; back toward her again. It repeated the action. In truth, it couldn’t have said “follow me” plainer than if it had spoken to her. And so, she trailed after the wolf, down through a little used cavern, around a bend.
It didn’t take long to find the man, collapsed as he was on the chilly floor. She realized, too, that if he weren’t unconscious from the loss of blood, he soon would be from the shock of the cold, stone floor.
She approached him tenuously, shovel held high. Would he attack her, if awake? Was there still danger from the wolf?
The man remained motionless, even when she stood directly over him. Was he unconscious? Dead, maybe?
Setting the shovel and lantern down, she bent over him, one hand going to his chest, the other to what should be the pulse in his neck.
He was alive. Barely. The beat was weak.
It was amazing to her that he had negotiated the caves this far. Removing her gloves and kneeling next to him, she checked his head, his arms, his chest. No injury there, though his body was chilled. Much too cold. She would have to do something to warm him.
She couldn’t tell his identity, at least not right now. He wore too much paint on his face, plus the wolf headdress hid his more prominent features.
Still looking for the injury, she made a path down his body, its instantaneous jerk telling her she was getting close. Down his hips, inward toward his upper thighs, her hand suddenly came in contact with something warm and sticky. His body convulsed.
Blood.
The injury was to his thigh, the wound still bleeding heavily. She would have to tie a tourniquet around his upper leg and then…she would have to remove that bullet.
She needed a doctor, that’s what she needed. But who could she trust? The closest medical doctor in these parts was a week’s hard ride east, to Fort Buford. Too long a trip.
True, there were people here at the fort who tended to one another when needed, but could she trust any of them with this man’s secret? With her own secret of the caves?
She considered moving him into her house, but she instantly dismissed the idea. She didn’t have the strength to do it, nor, if she were honest, did he. Plus, moving him right now might exacerbate his injury.
There was nothing for it. She would have to tend to him herself…here. She had seen a doctor take a bullet from a man once.
All she needed was a knife, fire, hot water…and courage.
Lifting her skirt, she tore a strip from her petticoat, which she tied around the man’s thigh as well as she was able. Her progress was hampered in part by her embarrassment. Because of the location of the injury, her hand kept brushing against the strength of the man’s thigh. But she had little time to consider such things.
The man’s life was in danger.
There. Done. At least the tourniquet would stop the bleeding for a little while.
She would need to return to the house, throw a work wrapper over her gown, get a knife, some hot water, clean bandages, and blankets.
“Hold on there, Mister Shadow Wolf,” she whispered to him. “Help is on the way.”
With nothing more to be said, she hurried back through the caves to her house.
Yellow eyes guided her once again to the man. She accepted that help although she didn’t require it. She knew her way.
She had needed to make two trips: one with bandages and blankets, the other with water, alcohol, and herbs.
She had thrown a calico wrap over her gown, and now, leaning over the man, she examined him gingerly. He was well-built and strong, explaining why he was still alive. Though she could not clearly identify him, it didn’t matter. She had to attend to his injury, and quickly.
The first thing she had to do, after positioning a blanket under him, was strip off his clothing. Not too difficult a job, since he wore little more than a breechcloth.
However, the wound lay dangerously close to that tiny bit of clothing, causing her to remove the buckskin more cautiously and more slowly than she would have liked, having to actually cut it away in several places.
She resolutely ignored the evidence of his gender as she stripped away his clothing, but not before registering the fact that he was well equipped to please a wife, if he had one. She felt herself blush at the thought, ashamed of herself.
Firmly, she reminded herself that the man’s life hung in the balance of her actions…
She moved his leg until the wound was easily accessible and, putting the knife to the flame of her lantern, she brought the hot point within inches of the gash.
“I’m sorry, Mister Wolf Shadow, but I have to do this if I am to save your life. That bullet must come out. This will hurt.”
She thought she saw his eyes flicker for an instant as though he had heard and understood her. Then nothing.
He jerked when she applied the knife to the wound, and she heard a rapid intake of breath. So he wasn’t unconscious. Too bad.
“Hold on there, mister.” She brought a soft towel toward him, guiding him to place it between his teeth. “The pain can’t be helped. I’m sorry.”
And with little more said, she cut the knife into the wound, slicing and pushing out the bullet with such deftness, one would have thought she’d been born to doctor.
To his credit, the man didn’t utter a sound, although she was more than aware of the moment he fainted. Alys thanked God that he was being spared the rest of the pain.
As two yellow eyes watched her from a distance, she placed the bullet to the side, cleaned the wound by pouring alcohol over it, and finished by positioning a poultice of herbs, echinacea, and elderberry upon it.
Next came a compress, which she applied pressure to, until the bleeding subsided. Then she wrapped the area up with soft bandages.
Her breathing coming in short puffs, she spoke to the wolf, who hadn’t moved. “I’ve done all I can,” she explained, as though the wolf sat in judgment. “There’s little more to be done now except wash away the sweat and the dirt that clings to him. But that can wait. And I’m exhausted. I promise, however, that I will check his bandages in a few hours.”
Glancing down at the man, she continued, “I hope you don’t run a fever, Mister Wolf Shadow. Just the same, I’d better brew a dandelion tea”—she lay her head down on a pillow, which she had placed next to him, her eyelids closing almost at once—“first thing tomorrow.”
His groaning awakened her.
She sat up and ran a hand over his forehead. He was burning up.
Quickly, she felt the temperature of the water she had hauled down into the cave. What had once been boiling was now cool. Good.
Tearing off another strip of material from her ruined petticoat, she dipped it into the water. A nice cool bath should bring his temperature down. Of course, she’d have to change the blanket under him once done, but first things first.
Removing his wolf headdress and setting it aside, she brushed cooling water over his face and hair, the black paint coming away and onto the cloth.
“Oh,” she uttered, the sound barely audible. Little by little his features were revealed, his look achingly familiar. To be sure, the boy who had once infatuated her young girl’s heart had certainly become a man.
“So, Mister Wolf Shadow,” she spoke to him as though he might hear her, “your secret is at last unmasked. I only wonder if you will remember me and the proposal you once made to a young, impressionable girl. I, for one, have never forgotten it.
“I suspected,” she continued to speak to him, “that it might be you who was terrorizing the merchants of this town when I saw your trail come into the cellar. I covered your tracks, Mister Wolf Shadow, that you might be safe, but I am uncertain if I approve of your use of my caves. It is something we will have to discuss when you awaken. And you will awaken, Mister Wolf Shadow. You will.”
Of course he had known about the caves, she told herself silently. He’d probably explored them in detail by now. She wondered briefly about his sister. Was she a part of the revenge upon the town’s merchants?
Somehow she doubted it. The man, or rather the boy she had known, had carried an air about him, even as a child, which would have tolerated no interference.
She began to wash his face with delicate care, smoothing back his hair, her fingers reaching out to run over his cheeks much as he had once done to her, so long ago. It was as though she were memorizing by touch the look of him.
