Eye of the Wolf

by Theodore V. Olsen

  "There is a thing I must do," he said slowly.

  "What is that?"

  "Miss Bethany thinks that I killed her man."

  "You can do nothing about that."

  "I can tell her the truth."

  Her hand stopped moving on his arm. Her eyes swept his face. "She will not believe you."

  "Still she will hear it."

  Her hand moved again, slicking the mash with long angry strokes. "You are a fool. A fool, Jahzini! You have no friends in the white man's town. If you go there, they will kill you."

  "They will not see me come or go. I am no white-eyes."

  Her eyes probed his, hard-bright. "No, you're only half white-eyes. Maybe it's that half that seeks out a Belinkana woman."

  He eyed her with annoyance. "She is my friend. She was my teacher."

  "Is that where you learned to be a fool?" She applied a last daub of the mash with a slap, making him wince. "Go! Go to your pasty-faced Belinkana. I have wasted a good poultice."

  Ulring sat on his heels by a small fire and watched his breakfast coffee come to a boil. His thoughts were gritty and wicked.

  He had spent the night in the lee of a rocky overhang that had given him little shelter from the periodic bursts of wind and rain. The creeping damp had worked through his blankets and clothes. His whole body was stiff this morning, full of wracking cramps, and what sleep he'd managed to get had done nothing for him.

  A few days of dismal weather had thinned his posse out till only a few diehards remained. Last night, when they had all pulled together at the rendezvous point, their reports were discouraging. Nothing, not a trace. They were grumbling and raw-tempered, and they had all gone home to dry beds and hot meals. Ulring alone had stayed out, making his camp in a narrow swale between two timbered ridges.

  He looked out past the overhang at the hazy sky. A few glowing sunslits cut through the overcast, peppering the ground with pale flecks. The rain had stopped, but that didn't mean anything. It had gusted off and on all day yesterday. The sky looked anything but promising. Wondering if any of the diehards would show up to resume the hunt, he swore feelingly.

  Let them quit. Let all the bastards quit.

  He scraped a palm over his stubbled jaw. He was jittery and unrested. The strain was wearing at him in a way he had never experienced. What the hell… nobody had questioned the story he'd told so matter-of-factly at the inquest for which he'd taken time out yesterday. The deceased, Leggett and McAllister, couldn't contradict it. Only that damned kid could.

  But where in hell was he?

  Ulring poked at the burning pine knots with a stick. Something would break soon. It had to. He was only spooking himself thinking about it.

  Close by, something gave a sharp snap. A twig or a branch breaking.

  Ulring dropped the stick and in the same motion was wheeling around and up off his haunches, his pistol out.

  "Best handle that iron light, sonny. I busted a twig a-purpose."

  "Where are you?" He knew the voice then. "… Bloodgood?"

  "Right where you are looking, bucko. Watch sharp."

  Ulring saw nothing but a shadow-seamed wall of aspen foliage. There was a scanty rustle of leaves; Caspar Bloodgood stepped into view. He moved over and squatted down facing the sheriff. His horny fingers held his rifle lightly across his knees and he paid no attention to Ulring's gun.

  "Getting the spooks, hey, sonny? Don't blame you none."

  Ulring studied him narrowly. "What the hell do you want?"

  "Gimme a cup o' that java and I be telling you."

  "There's no cup."

  Ulring moved the pan off the fire. His words were mild; he made a swift adjustment in his thoughts. The old mountain man wasn't here for coffee or to pass idle gibes. His sudden appearance had a reason behind it.

  "I been a-watching." Bloodgood gave a contemptuous clack of his tongue. "That kid is got all you billy-goats chasing your tails."

  "It bother you?"

  "Naw. It don't bother me, sonny. I would hazard, though, it has lit one hellsmear of a fire under your pants."

  Ulring's guts tightened. Was the old bastard just being fatuous? He couldn't know anything… or could he?

  "Maybe," he said softly, "you've seen the kid… eh?"

  Bloodgood's eyes twinkled with frosty blue lights. "Maybe I even talked to him some. Start thinking about that oncet."

  "I'm thinking about it."

  Ulring moved the pistol a fraction of an inch, enough to let Bloodgood sight square down the muzzle. The old man didn't bat an eye.

  "Go ahead, sonny. Let her off. Could crowd your luck, though… right after Leggett and that dude fella. Man could run hisself clean out o' likely sounding stories."

  "You're saying a whole hell of a lot for a man who hasn't really said a damned thing."

  "You savvy this coon's medicine straight enough, boy. I know it, you know it."

  "Say I do," Ulring said. "You're riding your luck on a damned thin edge, old man."

  "Like hell. You ain't letting no gun off in my face. Reason you ain't, there's more on your mind'n hair and a hat. There's questions."

  "And I want answers for them." Deliberately Ulring cocked the pistol. "Or I'll let it off. Right in your face. You can believe it."

  "Could, but I don't." A leathery chuckle tucked Bloodgood's cheeks. "Take more'n that, boy. A heap more."

  Ulring let the gun carefully off-cock and lowered it to his thigh. "All right," he said calmly. "How much?"

  "Five hunnerd dollar."

  Ulring didn't reply for a moment. Then: "I'll have to think about that."

  "You don't got no time for thinking, sonny. Spit 'er out now."

  "Old man, I haven't one damned inkling yet what you really know. Or what it might be worth to me."

  Bloodgood reached for the pan of coffee and tilted it to his mouth. He drank off half the scalding brew and set the pan down, his eyes sleepy and sly. "Could be worth your scalp iffen the kid's story is straight."

  Ulring leaned forward. "All right, you saw him. Talked to him. What are you selling?"

  "Mebbe the wherefore of how you c'n get him dead to rights."

  Ulring rubbed his chin. Did Bloodgood really know something useful? Or was he just sparring words, hoping for some confirmation from Ulring's own lips of what the kid had told him? Again… what did it matter? For in Bloodgood's hands, whether he knew or merely suspected the truth, that story could be a weapon. A lever for blackmail. That makes two to deal with, Ulring thought coldly. Two of them now. All right, but one thing at a time. Find out what he knows about the kid. If anything.

  "You know where he is?"

  "Mebbe, I said. What about it? Worth the price if I steer you right?"

  "If, yes. Where?"

  "I suspicion he was headed for the Navajos when he run onto my camp. That was last night jist south o' their town. He looked poorly and he favored one arm some. Reckon he was needing help."

  And he could have slipped into the village by night without being spotted by Cap and Tug, Ulring thought. He started a movement to rise, and instantly Bloodgood's rifle was covering him.

  "Don't be a fool. You'll get your money."

  "Ain't afeared I won't. Less'n some sheriff gets allowing to hisself how ole Caspar knows a jag too much for his health. Hey?"

  "I'll keep my part if I find you've kept yours. That's all you have to worry about."

  "Worry about my skin too." Bloodgood chuckled in his whiskers. "You already busted two men clean out o' this life, sonny. Are primed to bust another. Wherefores of it don't concern me none. Just this child don't hanker to be number four plew in your cache. Means to keep his skin and collect breed bounty too. Foller me?"

  Ulring shrugged. "It's any way you want it."

  "I be around to collect. In my own time. Watch sharp."

  Bloodgood got to his feet and backed off toward the trees.

  He melted into them without a sound. And then he was gone…

  Ulri
ng threw his gear together in a hurry. As he saddled his horse, he remembered (with a twinge of irony) his harsh warning to Adakhai not to give Will-Joe Cantrell sanctuary. Maybe blood was thicker than fear. He hoped so. Mounting, he put his sorrel at a swift gait toward the high trails north.

  Bloodgood. As he rode, his thoughts narrowed hard on the mountain man. Knowing only what young Cantrell had told him, Bloodgood was as dangerous as the kid. He'd recognize that Will-Joe's story, even unsupported by proof, could do irreparable damage to Ulring once it gained currency. The five hundred dollars he'd demanded for a scrap of information was a gnat-bite compared to the extortion that would probably follow.

  He'll bleed me dry, Ulring thought with conviction. That's if I let him…

  He had told Cap Merrill and Tug Baylor to make their camp high in the timber south of the village. As he crossed an open meadow coming up the long ridge toward its timbered crest, Cap appeared at the edge of the trees and waved him on.

  Ulring reined up beside him. "Howdy, Cap. Who's on lookout?"

  "I was. Heard your horse coming so I circled over here for a look. Tug's back in camp… this way."

  Ulring followed him through the thick scrub timber to a small glade where they had built a half-shelter of pine boughs. Big Tug Baylor was squatted on his heels in front of it, scowling at a stick he was whittling on.

  "Tug."

  Baylor growled something and didn't look up. Ulring dismounted and swept the clearing with a glance. He saw the ashes of a dead fire. A thin anger hardened his voice.

  "Thought I told you fellows. No fire."

  "We only built the one," Cap said. "That was last night between rains."

  "I don't give a good goddam when you built it. Smoke carries. Injuns can pick up the smell even when they can't see it."

  Baylor drove his knife into the earth and stood up, folding his hairy arms. A cold cigar stub was clamped between his teeth and he talked without unclenching them.

  "Lissen," he said ominously. "We been up on this goddam hunk o' rock three days. Eating cold grub, sleeping in wet blankets, getting ate up by bugs. Whilst you and them other bastards been cozying your asses back in town ever' night. We didn't even build no fire to keep warm. Just to heat some grub for a change. So don't read us no goddam scripture about how we do or don't."

  "Tug says it for me, Frank," Cap said quietly. "Job's a job, that's why we stuck. We ain't neither of us daisies and we sure-hell don't smell like 'em. But it's a bitch of a stand to keep a man on three days running. You want to hard-mouth us into the bargain, you can get yourself a couple other buckoes."

  Ulring eyed the two men carefully. They were dirty, unshaved, grubby as hell, and he could see their tempers were rubbed considerably finer than his. He took off his hat, scratched his head and made his grin sheepish.

  "Boys," he said mildly, "you're right. Man doesn't think sometimes. I'd never get any of those lard-bellied counterjumpers from town to oblige me the way you two have."

  "Just so you know it," Baylor growled.

  "Matter of fact, just about all of 'em quit on me. And right now I need a couple men. On a hunch, is all. But it crossed my mind the kid could have slipped into that village after dark."

  Cap and Baylor exchanged glances, and then Cap said slowly, "Been one of us on lookout all the time. Nights too, 'cept when the rain come down hard. Anyways, I was on watch last night, and there was a sort of ruckus around before midnight."

  "What was it?"

  "Hell, it was blacker'n a bat's balls down there. All I could tell, some dogs got het up and barked their heads off. Didn't last more'n a minute and they got hushed up."

  "I'll make you a bet," Ulring said softly.

  "Could of been 'most anything, Frank."

  "I feel lucky today," Ulring smiled. "You see anything out of the way this morning?"

  "Nary thing. You want to come look?"

  The three of them worked through the timber to a rocky spur that overlooked the plateau. The cluster of hogans looked peaceful enough in the colorless wash of sunlight. People were moving about their business.

  "Tell you what," Ulring said. "I'm going to follow my hunch. If it pans up bad rock, no harm done. Here's what we'll do…"

  Ulring approached the village riding slowly, keeping to the open. On the flat ground just south of the hogans, some boys were playing a game of nanzah, running after each other with hoops. They saw the rider coming and stopped. Then they scattered like quail. Ulring grinned: he was recognized.

  He rode as far as the first hogans, halted his horse and stepped to the ground. The Navajos had left off whatever they were doing and were just watching him. The wind whipped his hat, and he idly removed it and ran a hand through the yellow hair that he knew was like a badge of fear to these people.

  Old Adakhai, summoned by one of the women, came striding across the compound, his faded blanket flapping around his gaunt shanks. His wrinkled face seemed turned in on itself as if he did not want his thoughts to show, but there was nothing unusual in that.

  "What does Tsi Tsosi want?"

  "Just the kid, Grandpa. That's all I want."

  Adakhai had spoken in Navajo; he answered in English. And swung a 90-degree-angle glance slowly around him, taking in all that he could see of the village and ready for just about anything. If they tried to slip the kid out, it wouldn't be right past him, but you couldn't tell what kind of a diversion they might try.

  "Tsi Tsosi makes riddles."

  "No. I make promise, Grandpa. If the kid is here, you give him up now. I'll take it you were holding him for me and we will let it go at that."

  "Maybe he is not here."

  "Don't get smart-ass." Ulring stared at him a moment. "If he's not here, I'd reckon you know about where he is."

  "Why should we know this?"

  "You're his people. He'd come to you. If you were scared to keep him here, there's places you could hide him. Now you want to understand me, old man." He held a palm flat up and tapped it emphatically with his other forefinger. "If you lie to me now and I find out you did, I will be coming back with a lot of white men. And what happens will be like nothing you ever saw."

  Rainbow Girl had seen the sheriff coming when he was only halfway across the bare flats south of the village. She was walking toward the spring with a waterbag; she stopped and shaded her eyes. She could not yet be sure who it was, but she made a guess. She waited, slim body braced, wind toiling with her skirts, till she could make out how the man sat his horse. That straight-backed arrogance—she could not be mistaken.

  She turned and headed back toward her grandfather's hogan. Her heart was pounding and she tried not to seem in a hurry. Surely those sky-pale eyes of Tsi Tsosi could see very far. When she was deep inside the scatter of hogans, cut off from the open, she began to run. She reached Adakhai's lodge.

  Will-Joe was sitting up on his sheepskin pallet, holding his hurt arm straight out before him, opening and closing his hand as if trying his strength. The arm was bulky with poultice and wrappings. His glance slanted against her face.

  "Yellow Hair. He is coming."

  He scrambled to his feet. Then settled his shoulders and rubbed a fist across his chin, as if ashamed that he'd let her glimpse his reaction.

  "From the south?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I will have to go out another way."

  "Yes, but it is too open around the lodges. If he sees you, he will ride you down."

  He did not seem to listen. She saw the hard line of his jaw and a brittle light in his eyes. Bending now, he picked up his pistol from the blankets and rammed it through his belt.

  "I am tired of running. He is alone?"

  She slipped the waterbag off her shoulder and let it drop. She looked at him in the yellow gloom. "Don't be a fool, Jahzini. He can kill you. He is Tsi Tsosi."

  "He has no medicine to turn bullets. He can die too."

  "And what will that answer for you?"

  He said nothing, but she saw the
tension run out of him, an almost imperceptible slacking of weight against his heels, and knew his mad moment was past. Now he would listen.

  "Wait," she said. And went to the back-drawn door and looked out. She saw Adakhai, who had been gossiping with some elderly friends, crossing the village to intercept Tsi Tsosi.

  She turned back to Will-Joe.

  "Natani is going to meet him. They will talk, but Natani will not hold him long."

  "Then I go now."

  She saw him hesitate, and said: "What is it?"

  "Maybe," he said slowly, "it is a trap. Maybe there are others watching… waiting."

  "A trap. How can this be? How could he know you are here?"

  "I think there's one who told him."

  "Do you think one of the Dine, the People, would do that?"

  He shook his head, his eyes narrowing. "I think it was another."

  He started for the doorway and she stopped him, flattening her palm against his chest. "If it is a trap, you will have a better chance on a horse."

  "Tell me where a horse is."

  "Wait, Jahzini. I will bring the horse here. Do not come out of the hogan till I bring him."

  "But—then you—"

  "No. They would shoot you, not me."

  Before he could say more, she took a swift initiative, whirling around and ducking out the door. In another moment, she knew, he would have gone out first. Now he could only wait.

  She passed between the hogans at a quick walk and came out of the village on its eastern side. Then she was descending a shallow and deep-grassed swale where several ponies were ground-tethered. She slowed as she went casually over to the ponies, moving only her eyes, not her head, as she scanned a line of scrub trees a hundred yards beyond the swale.

  If anyone were to steal up from this side, those trees would be good cover. There was mostly open ground beyond the perimeter of the village, but the few scattered mottes of trees or brush would hide an enemy's approach and supply places to lie in wait. Just a few, two or three men, could cover all the open terrain. And catch anyone trying to cross it no matter how he angled away from the village.