The gully became more and more narrow the farther up it he climbed until it was little more than a ditch at the top, where it opened out on a domelike hilltop. Wolf crouched in the darkness and strained to scan the many clumps of sagebrush that dotted the backside of the hill and the prairie beyond. There was nothing moving that he could see, but he continued his sweeping surveillance, back and forth across the area within range of his eyesight. They’ll come, he told himself, although he was not sure that they would. They might decide their medicine was bad and call it an ill-advised raid. He didn’t have to wait long for the answer, for suddenly his gaze stopped on a small clump of sagebrush that wasn’t there before. As he stared at the dark form near the bottom of the low hill, it moved, making its way to stop again behind a larger bush. Wolf quickly scanned back and forth again in an effort to spot any more dark forms moving. There were none—one warrior alone, which made Wolf speculate that the remaining warriors were having doubts regarding the wisdom of persisting.
Red Blanket was less than halfway up the back of the hill when the clump of sagebrush several yards above him suddenly exploded with a burst of Wolf’s muzzle flash. The surprised Indian was knocked backward to roll over and over before settling at the foot of the hill. Wolf inched his way down a little farther to locate himself behind a thick bush about ten yards above the body. When they heard the gunshot, this warrior’s companions would surely investigate, so he pushed the barrel of his rifle through the middle of the bush and trained it on Red Blanket’s corpse. He would wait now to find out what the other warriors would do. If they decided to storm up the slope, he would be ready to eliminate more of their number. By his count during the Indians’ initial charge on the wagon, there had been twelve warriors in the party. With the body now lying below him at the foot of the hill, that left only five to be accounted for. The high number of casualties should surely discourage further attacks, but he would have to wait to see. At least there had been no more sounds of gunfire from the gully where the women were watching.
Soon he spotted several dark forms moving toward the foot of the hill. As they came closer, he was able to make out individuals and take a count. There were five, all that remained of the original war party. Suddenly his situation changed, and he questioned his decision to hide behind a bush for cover. If they discovered him, he couldn’t be sure of getting more than one, possibly two of them, before they got him. Darkness was a good cover, but it wasn’t much when it came to stopping a bullet. It was too late to retreat now; they were about to find their dead brother. There was nothing he could do but remain stone still.
“Here!” Lone Buffalo whispered when he almost stumbled over the body. “It’s Red Blanket!” He knelt beside the body to determine if he was alive. In a moment, he was joined by the other four. They stood around him, all peering up into the darkness, searching for any sign of Red Blanket’s killer.
The one man squatting behind a bush a few yards above them remained still, hardly daring to breathe. Although they all seemed to look right at him, he knew they couldn’t see him, and the thought went through his mind that he could possibly kill two or more of them while they stood bunched together over the body. And then get the hell shot outta this bush, he told himself, and decided it was not worth the risk.
“What should we do?” one of the warriors asked Lone Buffalo. “We should have all gone with him.”
“And we might have all been killed,” Lone Buffalo said. “This was surely bad medicine to attack the wagon. Seven of us have been killed. How many more of us have to die before we know that we should not have made war on this wagon?” He reached down to take Red Blanket’s feet. “Help me carry him back to our horses. Then, if we can, we must pick up the others and take our dead back to our village, and leave these white demons alone.”
Now, that sounds like a right sensible idea to me, the observer in the bush thought, knowing enough of their tongue to understand, and close enough to hear. The other four Lakota must have also agreed, for they immediately did Lone Buffalo’s bidding. He gave them plenty of time to depart before he backed away from his bush and hurried up the hill, anxious to tell the women what was going to happen, so they wouldn’t shoot at anyone attempting to recover their dead.
Scrambling back down the gully, he paused before reaching the horses, remembering to give Billie Jean the signal. He whistled and waited for a response. All he heard was the cocking of a carbine. Not sure she had heard him, he whistled again, this time a little louder, then a third time, even louder. Finally he heard Billie Jean say to Lorena, “That don’t sound like what he said was a birdcall.”
Losing his patience, he blurted, “Dammit, Billie Jean, it’s me and I’m comin’ in!”
“Oh,” she reacted, startled, when he suddenly appeared beside her elbow. “You scared me.” And she was reminded of the first time he had showed up to help them pull the wagon out of the creek—just popped out of nowhere. “You don’t need to waste your time whistling a signal. A body can’t see you comin’ anyway.”
“We heard the shot,” Rose said. “We were worried.”
“They’re leavin’,” Wolf said. “They’re gonna pick up their dead and leave. We just need to keep an eye on ’em to make sure they don’t change their minds. If you see one of ’em, don’t shoot at him. Just let ’em go about their business.”
They remained vigilant throughout the rest of the long night, but there was no sign of any movement on the wide expanse of prairie leading up to the hills that were their refuge. When the sun finally struggled up over the plains to the east to draw long shadows from the knobby clumps of sagebrush on the prairie, the bodies were gone. “Damn,” Lorena marveled. “When did they do that? We were watchin’ all night. Hell, that one crazy one that came runnin’ at us wasn’t but twenty-five or thirty yards right out in front of us.” She seemed to aim her question at Wolf.
He shrugged and replied, “They’re Injuns. They don’t ever stomp around, makin’ a lot of noise.”
She stared at him for a long second, astonished by his seeming indifference to the fact that they had all escaped with their scalps against a war party three times their number. Suddenly a thought occurred to her. “What the hell is your name?” In the time they had been in partnership with this strange man, he had never volunteered his name. Her question caught the attention of Rose and Billie Jean, and they both paused to hear his answer.
“Wolf,” he said.
“Wolf,” she repeated. “Well, that’s a good name for you, Mr. Wolf. Ain’t it, girls?” A strange name for a strange man, she thought. “Somethin’ Wolf, or Wolf Somethin’?” she asked.
“Just Wolf,” he replied.
“I’d drink to it if I had something to drink with,” Billie Jean offered. They were reminded then that they were bottled up in a dry gulch with no water and no wood to build a fire.
“Hitch up the horses,” Wolf said, “and we’ll pull outta here. On the other side of these hills, in about two hours, I’d say, we oughta strike Old Woman Creek. We can stop there and fix somethin’ to eat and rest a little. There’s wood for a fire and good water if the creek ain’t run dry.”
Once again, they set out for Fort Laramie. Although hungry and tired, all three women were in high spirits now that the danger had been met and overcome. When asked of the chances of encountering another Sioux war party, Wolf replied that the odds were long, since they were now only a little over a day’s travel from the fort. “I was mighty surprised to see that bunch runnin’ this close to Fort Laramie,” he confessed. “I doubt we’ll see any more.” This was the news the women wanted to hear, so the rest of the trip was under much more cheerful skies.
Chapter 3
Early afternoon found them approaching the Laramie River just short of its confluence with the North Platte. Wolf pulled his horse to a complete stop to gawk at the steel structure across the North Platte. The bridge, completed the year before, was not there the last time he had been to Fort Laramie and it seemed
an amazing accomplishment to his mind. “Ain’t you ever seen a bridge before?” Lorena asked when she pulled the wagon up beside him.
“Ain’t ever seen one like that,” he confessed. “Reckon how they lifted all those steel pieces up there?”
“I don’t know,” Lorena replied, “but if you think that’s somethin’, you oughta see some of the bridges back east.”
“I don’t think I wanna see ’em,” he decided without having to give it much thought. He had lived with the Indians long enough to know that the rivers were put here by God, or Man Above, and they were meant to be left alone, free of bulky hunks of steel and iron. Lorena looked at Rose and shook her head. “Yonder’s the fort,” he said, pointing across the Laramie River. “I don’t know where you wanna go. I know where the post trader’s store is. I never had any business anywhere else. There’s a ferry a short piece down the river, a bridge, too, but it don’t look like that one.” Thinking his job was surely finished, since they were in sight of the post’s buildings, Wolf did not plan to cross over the river with them. Lorena was of a different mind, however, and was reluctant to part company with him. She insisted that she would repay him for his time and certainly for the cartridges he had spent to protect them from attack. The thought of replenishing his supply of ammunition was enough to change his mind about leaving.
None of the three women had ever been to Fort Laramie before, so they weren’t sure where to look for an establishment that might have need of their special qualities. “We’ll try the post trader’s store,” Lorena decided. As luck would have it, they pulled onto the post’s parade ground right after a changing of the guard, and the wagon with two women in the seat, with one more standing behind it, was spotted by the officer of the day. He came at once to intercept them. Thinking to address Wolf, who was leading the wagon, he signaled for him to stop.
“Where do you think you’re going with that wagon?” the lieutenant wanted to know.
“I reckon you’d best talk to the women,” Wolf replied, and turned his horse back toward the wagon.
Having heard the lieutenant’s question, Lorena told him that they were new to the fort and were seeking information. “We were figurin’ on goin’ to the sutler’s store to find what we needed.”
Needing no more than a brief look at the three women, the officer advised them that what they were looking for was probably not at the post trader’s store. “I think the place you ladies are trying to find is the social center, about three miles down that road at the corner of the stables.” He pointed toward the road, but refrained from referring to their destination by the popular name for it, the Three-Mile Hog Ranch. “That’s more than likely the best place if you’re looking for a place to camp. Otherwise, you’ll have to park your wagon on the far side of the river with the other civilian wagons.”
“Well, thank you kindly, Lieutenant,” Lorena replied sweetly. “I guess we’ll be on our way, then. Hope to see you again.”
“Don’t count on it,” the lieutenant muttered.
Anxious to be on his way, and away from the busy army post, Wolf nevertheless resigned himself to three more miles with the women if he was to get the money Lorena promised. Without a word, he turned the bay toward the road that had been pointed out, and started again.
The hog ranch was not difficult to find. The raucous sounds of a piano, mixed with the loud talking and laughter, could be heard almost a quarter of a mile away. Upon rolling into the complex of several buildings, they discovered a saloon and store, as well as a hotel, operated by the Cheyenne and Black Hills Stage Company. Behind the saloon sat a barn and another building that resembled a barn, with loopholes apparently for defense. The center of activity was a U-shaped lime-grout building where the saloon was located, and accounted for most of the noise. The feature that interested Lorena and her two companions the most was a series of two-room cabins. There were eight of them, and they were obviously built to accommodate prostitutes. “Girls,” Lorena announced, “I guess we’re home.”
After the wagon was parked and the horses unhitched and hobbled to graze, Wolf followed his three traveling companions into the saloon. All eyes in the crowded room turned immediately toward the strange foursome, which seemed to please Lorena. With the trials of the trail behind her, she was in her element now, and back in charge. The patrons, almost all of whom were soldiers, paused to look over the new stock. A half dozen professional ladies, already in residence, were the only unfriendly faces to greet the three newcomers. Lorena gave them all a syrupy smile, led her party up to the bar, and ordered a bottle of whiskey. The bartender, a grumpy-faced middle-aged man called Smiley, insisted upon seeing some money before he complied. With her smile still in place, she reached in the bosom of her blouse and fished around until she came up with a small purse. From it, she picked out the exact amount, placed it on the bar, replaced the purse, and patted her bosom when it settled comfortably. “I think we oughta have a little drink to celebrate us gettin’ ourselves out here with our scalps still on. Barkeep, we’re gonna need four glasses.”
Leaving Billie Jean and Rose to pick up the glasses, she grabbed her bottle by the neck and looked for a table in the crowded saloon. There were none empty, so she paused a moment to survey the room before deciding on a table occupied by four soldiers, but no women. She sidled over to the table. “Evenin’, boys. You look like four gentlemen. We’ve just arrived here after a hard and dangerous journey through hostile country. How about lettin’ me and my tired companions sit down?”
There was a brief pause while the four soldiers exchanged perplexed glances. When none voiced objection, one of them spoke for his friends. “All right, ladies, I reckon you can have a seat—but not him.” He frowned at Wolf. “I ain’t giving up my chair so he can sit down.”
Wolf did not respond, his expression remaining passive. Already feeling uncomfortable in the atmosphere of the crowded barroom, he had no desire to sit at the table while the women drank. He had no reason to drink the fiery liquid, anyway. The one time he had tried it, he seemed to lose control of his reflexes, and he got a terrible headache. He intended never to experience that feeling again. One of the other soldiers pushed his chair back and stood up. “Hell, I’m finished drinking, anyway. I’ve got stable duty in the morning.” The other three followed his example and got up as well. None seemed inspired to make the acquaintance of any of the newly arrived soiled doves.
“Ladies.” The soldier who had first spoken gestured politely as he stepped back from the table. Then he looked at Wolf and said, “You ain’t supposed to come in here with that rifle. I’m surprised Smiley didn’t notice and tell you to leave it at the door.”
Wolf nodded slowly, the stoic expression still in place. “I won’t shoot nobody with it unless I have reason.” The look in his eyes prompted the soldier to leave it at that. When the soldiers departed, he sat down in the empty chair and settled his gaze upon Lorena, wondering if the money she used to buy the whiskey might have been intended to replace his cartridges. His thoughts were interrupted when Smiley, having heard the conversation between Wolf and the departing soldiers, came over to the table and explained the saloon’s policy regarding weapons inside. “All right,” Wolf said, “I’ll take it outside.”
“No need to do that,” Smiley said. “I’ll keep it for you behind the bar till you’re ready to leave.”
After Smiley left with his rifle, Lorena gestured for him to slide his glass over, but he declined and turned it upside down. Surprised, she hesitated before insisting, then shook her head as if amazed. “You don’t diddle with women. Now you tell me you don’t drink. You’re the damnedest man I’ve ever met.”
“He sure is,” Rose seconded with a strong hint of admiration in her tone.
“I reckon you’re itchin’ to get the money I promised you so you can get the hell away from here,” Lorena said.
“You told me you didn’t have no money,” he reminded her.
“That’s right, I did,” she said, g
rinning as she recalled their first meeting. “Well, I didn’t know you then. But I’da been crazy to start out on a trip like this with no money a’tall.”
He shrugged, grateful for any money she offered.
She was about to dive into her bosom again when she was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. She looked up to see Billie Jean nodding toward two of the resident prostitutes heading toward the table. “I was beginnin’ to think they weren’t gonna welcome us,” Lorena remarked facetiously, and settled back in her chair. “Howdy,” she greeted them. “Have a drink with us.” Her greeting was met with a cold glare from both women.
The tall, skinny one did the talking for the two, and probably represented the feelings of the other women in the saloon. “I don’t know where you three came from,” she said, “but you can see that there’s all the girls we need here already.”
“That so?” Billie Jean asked. “How many girls are living here, counting you six?”
“That doesn’t make any difference,” the tall woman replied. “We don’t need any more girls to horn in.”
“Ain’t but six of you, then?” Lorena asked.
“There’s six of us, counting Flora and Lucille.”
“Well, then,” Lorena said, “there ain’t no problem. I counted eight of them cribs out back, and we’ve got a whole army of prospects, so we oughta get along just fine.” She paused to give them a wide smile before continuing. “Course, if we ain’t welcome, I reckon we’ll just do our business in my wagon, parked out front with a big sign that says ‘All Services to Soldiers Free.’”
The tall, thin woman grinned, exhibiting a smile marred by the absence of one of her front teeth, no doubt lost in a similar altercation in the past. “So that’s how it is, is it?” She smirked. “What if me and the other ladies decide to throw you and your two friends outta here on your asses?”
Day of the Wolf Page 6