Day of the Wolf

by Charles G. West

  The frown on his face revealed his lack of enthusiasm for helping them find another in a long list of boomtowns that threatened to ruin the grandeur of the mountains. They waited expectantly for his decision while he battled with his conscience. Like it or not, he surrendered to his sense of what was right, knowing he couldn’t abandon them to try to find the gulch by themselves. “If they’ve been drivin’ wagons up there, I reckon I oughta be able to follow their tracks easy enough.” He thought of the deep wagon tracks he had seen earlier, running up the valley, and figured they were probably the freighters the women were supposed to meet. He told Lorena as much.

  “Why, those low-down lyin’ bastards,” she fumed when he told her how far ahead of them they were. “They told me they would wait till we got there. Dammit, we waited for them when we thought we were early.”

  “Nothing we can do about that now,” Rose chimed in, still cheerful about the prospect of having Wolf to look after them. “We don’t need them anyway. Isn’t that right, Wolf?”

  He shifted his dark eyes toward her and commented dryly, “Don’t ever hurt to have a few extra rifles handy when you’re ridin’ through this country. Let’s get started. We’ve still got a few good hours of daylight left, and we need to find a good place to camp tonight. Those Lakota warriors ain’t likely to go back to their village without the bodies of the ones we killed. They’ll be back. Best we’re not here when they come.”

  Billie Jean was the only one who thought to ask the question that no one had thought to ask when he first appeared. “Do you know Ned Bull is on your trail?”

  “He was,” Wolf answered. “He ain’t no more.” The noticeable void that followed told of the disappointment all three felt. Realizing this, he told them of the circumstances that had led to Ned’s death, and the part he had played to ensure his revenge. “I didn’t kill Ned, but I didn’t get there soon enough to keep him from gettin’ killed. He was my friend.” His confession of innocence brought a welcome relief to the women. Even though they had tried to help him escape, they would never have condoned his killing of the deputy marshal.

  Chapter 10

  Joe French propped his shovel against the side of the sluice box and picked up his rifle from the bank of the stream. “Oscar!” he called out. “We got company.”

  At the other end of the box, Oscar Morris responded at once. “Where?” he asked, alert at once while wading ashore to fetch his own rifle.

  “Comin’ up the stream, ’bout halfway down to that tree lyin’ over it,” Joe replied, his eyes never leaving the figure on horseback, partially hidden by the leaves of the plum bushes that lined both sides of the stream.

  “How many? Can you tell?” Oscar asked while straining to catch sight of them.

  After a long moment, Joe answered, “Just one.” He kept his eyes on the solitary figure making its way up toward their claim. “Keep your rifle handy.” There had been reports of some Indian attacks upon small claims along this stream, but they were in the lower part of it, closer to the valley. “It ain’t no Injun,” he called out a few seconds later. Relieved but still cautious, he walked a few paces farther up on the bank to await the arrival of the visitor. In a couple of minutes he was joined by his partner. “Looks like a drifter,” Joe remarked, “but he’s comin’ on in. That one you saw a-settin’ up on the hill the other time just watched for a spell and moved on.” He didn’t have to remind Oscar how that had spooked both of them into staying awake all night to stand guard.

  “Might be the same feller,” Oscar said, even though it had been back before the winter set in, “but this’un ain’t wearin’ animal hides.” Further speculation was interrupted when the visitor hailed the camp.

  “Hello there,” Buck Dawson yelled. “All right if I come on in?”

  “If you’ve got peaceful intentions, come in, and welcome,” Oscar replied.

  “Well, my intentions are peaceful,” Buck replied, and started his horse walking again toward the sluice box. “Havin’ any luck?” he asked in greeting as he pulled up before the two miners.

  “Not so much as a feller would dance a jig over,” Joe replied. “We keep hopin’, though.” He wanted to brag about the discovery of gold in the wide stream, and the fact that they were sluicing at the rate of almost fifty cents a pan, but he decided he’d better keep their success quiet. As far as he had been able to determine, he and Oscar were the only ones to have found this rich little stream, at least for half a mile in both directions. “If we don’t find some pay dirt pretty soon, I reckon we’ll pack up and look somewhere else.”

  “There’s a bunch of fellers in a gulch a couple of miles back that way,” Buck said, pointing to the east. “They was all findin’ a little color. Trouble is, there’s too many of ’em goin’ after it. Ain’t enough to go around. Now, me, I’m more like you fellers. I’ll find me a spot where ain’t nobody else been.”

  “That’s what we done,” Oscar said. “Get it before somebody else finds out about it and turns it into a glory hole.” A look from Joe caused him to add, “Course, we ain’t found nothin’ here, so we’ll most likely move on up the mountain.” Thinking it best to change the subject then, he said, “There was a feller that came by our claim a few months back, but he didn’t come on down to the camp—just sat up there on the side of the hill and watched for a while. Then he up and left. That wasn’t you, was it?”

  “Course it weren’t him,” Joe interrupted before Buck could answer. “That feller looked like an Injun, wearin’ skins for clothes and sneakin’ around in the trees.” He turned to Buck. “He didn’t think we saw him, but we caught a glimpse when he crossed that little clearin’ in the pines up there.” He pointed to a small opening in the trees a few hundred feet up the mountain.

  Buck’s interest was captured right away. He remembered the description that Boyd had given of the half-wild man called Wolf. It would be one hell of a coincidence if the man just described by Joe French was the man he and his brothers hunted. There were a good many men wearing buckskins on this side of the Mississippi, but what if they had been lucky enough to have stumbled upon his trail—even after this length of time? “No,” he said, “your partner’s right. It weren’t me, but it might be somebody I know. Was he on a horse?”

  “Well, like Joe said,” Oscar replied, “we didn’t get a real good look at him, but he was leadin’ two horses—least that’s what it looked like to me.”

  “That’s mighty interestin’,” Buck said, and turned to look again at the small clearing in the trees above the stream. When he turned back to face them, he had his .44 pistol in his hand. Both men tensed at once, too surprised to react quickly enough, although Joe started to pull his rifle up closer to him. “I wouldn’t even try it,” Buck warned. “I’d cut you down before you raised it above your pecker. Now, suppose you just drop them rifles right there on the ground, and we’ll make this as easy as we can?”

  Though startled by the sudden change in the friendly stranger, Joe recovered enough of his nerve to protest, “Mister, we done told you we ain’t hit no pay dirt, so there ain’t no use to try to take somethin’ that ain’t here.”

  His words were met with a broad smile from Buck. “I don’t believe you’ve been honest with me. I believe you boys have been pullin’ a lot of gold outta this stream. All I said was that I wanted to see it. Hell, if you make it easy on me, I’ll cut you in for a share of it. Now, I think that’s fair enough.”

  “You must be plumb loco, mister,” Oscar said, recovering some of his nerve as well. “As far apart as we’re standin’, you might get one of us with that pistol, but the other’n is bound to get off a shot. Did you think about that?”

  “I did,” Buck answered thoughtfully. “That’s why my brothers are settin’ on the slope behind you with their rifles sighted right on your backs. Now, you make the first move toward those rifles, I mean wiggle a finger, and they’re gonna cut you down like winter wheat.” He raised his voice a little. “Ain’t that right, boys?”
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  “That’s right, Buck.” The words came back from the pines on either side of the stream, almost in unison.

  The rifles fell to the ground at once. “That’s playin’ it smart,” Buck said. Then he raised his voice once again. “Come on in, boys.” In a few moments, Boyd and Skinner emerged from the trees above the stream, their rifles trained upon the unfortunate prospectors. “These two fine-lookin’ fellers are my brothers,” Buck continued, a broad smile on his face again.

  “Damn you,” Joe snarled. “We ain’t got nothin’ to steal—not enough to kill a man for.”

  “You’ve got the wrong idea, friend,” Buck replied. “We’re not murderers. We’re just partners. We don’t wanna kill anybody unless we have to. So you just dig out that gold dust—wherever you got it hid—and we’ll just take our share and leave you the rest. And if you come out with all of it, and don’t make us have to look for it, why, we’ll be on our way. And you’ll never lay eyes on us again. Ain’t that right, boys?”

  “That’s right, Buck,” Skinner replied, “we only want our share.”

  Joe and Oscar looked at each other helplessly. Both men knew that they had little choice but to comply. And both men also desperately hoped that the three outlaws were intent upon robbing them only. Perhaps, if they did as Buck instructed, they would be satisfied to take what gold they had and leave them with their lives.

  Growing impatient with the miners’ reluctance to give in, Buck demanded, “What’s it gonna be? You takin’ the easy way or the hard way?” Boyd and Skinner moved in a little closer to them.

  “All right, dammit.” Joe spoke for them both. “We’ll give you the dust if you’ll take it and leave us in peace.”

  “Fair enough,” Buck said.

  “Come on, Oscar, we’ll get our pokes from under the rock, and let these gentlemen get the hell on their way.” They picked up their shovels and walked back up the stream to a rock about the size of a full-grown cow. The three brothers followed close behind, their rifles trained on the two, and stood, watching eagerly, as Oscar and Joe began digging at the base of the rock.

  After a sizable hole had been dug, they unearthed a canvas bag, and then another. When one more bag was exposed, they stood back and Oscar said, “That’s all there is. That’s all of it.”

  “Is that a fact?” Buck replied. “Tell you what, why don’t you widen that hole a little bit? You mighta forgot a sack or two.”

  “That’s right” Skinner said, “it’s easy to forget how many sacks of gold you buried.” His comment brought a chuckle from Boyd and Buck.

  “All right”—Joe exhaled wearily—“but there ain’t no more pokes under this rock.” He and Oscar set in to widen the hole. After half an hour more, with the hole now a trench all the way around the rock, Buck let them stop digging.

  “Looks like you boys were right,” he said. “And you ain’t hid none under no other rocks. Right?” Both men nodded enthusiastically. “And you swear on your mama’s soul?”

  “I swear,” Oscar said.

  Buck nodded in return, and the broad smile returned to his face. He looked at his brothers again and gave one final distinctive nod. It was the signal they expected, and both rifles barked suddenly, dropping Joe and Oscar to the ground. The firing did not stop until they were sure the two were dead. Buck stuck the toe of his boot in Oscar’s chest and rolled him over to drop in the trench freshly dug. “You ought not swear to a lie on your mama’s soul,” he said. Then, directing his younger brothers, he said, “Let’s get busy and find where they hid the rest of their dust.” Boyd and Skinner each grabbed a shovel and began searching for likely places to hide gold dust, while Buck went to rummage through the prospectors’ tents.

  After a couple of hours of searching, another cache of gold dust was unearthed at the base of a tall, columnlike rock that yielded three more sacks. At the end of the day, they called it quits, after having dug around every likely rock. Well satisfied with the treasure that had cost them a full day’s digging, they celebrated their “strike” with the prospectors’ coffee and grub. “I swear,” Boyd declared, “this prospectin’ is hard work.”

  “Yeah, but the pay is good,” Skinner said. “How much you think we got, Buck?”

  “I don’t know. Those two fools ain’t even got a balance scale. I don’t know what gold’s sellin’ for right now, but I figure we got us all we’re gonna need before we track that son of a bitch down.” The comment caused them to refocus on the reason they were there.

  “It ain’t gonna be easy finding him in these mountains,” Boyd declared. “He could be campin’ in the next valley to this one, and we wouldn’t know it.”

  “Maybe so,” Buck responded, “but this feller said he just kept goin’ along that ridge, headin’ north—didn’t even bother to stop and say howdy. I’m bettin’ he was on his way to that gold strike up in Deadwood Gulch—most likely spent the winter there—so we need to quit lookin’ around in these mountains and head up that way ourselves.

  Like the man they hunted, they had never been to Deadwood Gulch, but also like him, they found a common trail that miners and freighters had already created. It was easy enough to follow, and it led them to a thriving mining community of tents and huts. As the Dawson brothers rode into the midst of the activity, they could readily see a town in the early stages of birth, and figured this was the place they were looking for. To verify it, they pulled up before a rough shack with a sign that proclaimed it to be a general store, operated by one Reuben Little. The paint on the sign had not completely dried.

  Inside, they found Reuben opening a barrel of dried apples with a hatchet. “Evenin’, gents,” Reuben said. “How can I help you?”

  “Is this here Deadwood Gulch?” Buck asked.

  “Ah, no, sir,” Reuben answered. “This is Stonewall. If you’re looking for that gulch, it’s about forty-five or fifty miles north of here, as the crow flies.” Seeing the look of disappointment upon their faces, he was quick to suggest, “This is gonna be a fine little town right here, if you fellows are looking to find a claim for yourselves.” They were as rough a lot as he had ever seen, but so was most everybody else who braved the dangers of looking for gold in Indian Territory.

  “Well, that’s a mighty temptin’ idea, ain’t it, boys?” Buck replied. “But I reckon we’ll be passin’ right on through. But we might buy a few supplies before we go.”

  “I’d like me some of them apples,” Skinner sang out. “Ain’t that what’s in that barrel?”

  “Sure is,” Reuben replied. “Come to me by way of Denver.”

  “Yes, sir, we mighta stayed here awhile,” Buck continued. “But you see, we’re supposed to catch up with a friend of ours, and he said he’s goin’ to Deadwood Gulch. You ain’t seen him come through here, have you?” Reuben shrugged. “He’s a kinda wild-lookin’ feller—name’s Wolf.”

  Reuben’s eyes lit up immediately. “Him, yes, sir, he was in here, all right. I knew I’d remember him. But it was back before winter, I reckon. I ain’t sure exactly.”

  Skinner shot Buck a look of smug satisfaction. It appeared Buck’s hunch on where Wolf was likely heading was right on the money. “Did he say he was goin’ to Deadwood Gulch?” Skinner asked.

  Reuben thought for a second before answering, “He may have. Tell you the truth, I don’t remember if he did or not. The more I recollect, I don’t believe he said anything about where he was heading.” He shook his head thoughtfully as he recalled the somber man with the unblinking stare. “He was a strange fellow. Say he was a friend of yours? He didn’t lose any time hanging around here. I think towns make him nervous.”

  “They might at that,” Buck remarked. “That’s the way he is, all right.” With plenty of stolen gold dust to buy supplies, they threw a little business Reuben’s way, with rifle cartridges accounting for the most part—although they did spend a little for a sack of dried apples at Skinner’s request. Boyd argued in favor of staying overnight in Stonewall to take advantage of the
availability of a saloon. But Buck said no to the idea, his reason being they were at least a two-day ride from Deadwood, so he wanted to get started as soon as possible. “This critter we’re chasin’ is a drifter, blowing in the wind. I don’t know how long he’ll stay in one place before he gets the itch to move on, but he mighta stayed there. And it’ll be a helluva sight easier lookin’ for him in a town, instead of havin’ to comb these damn mountains.”

  The object of their search was at that moment getting his first look at Deadwood, and he didn’t care much for what he saw. The canyon walls were covered with dead trees and looked as if a huge fire had ravaged the gulch years before. He had thought Stonewall a festering hill of termites, but Deadwood looked to be even busier, swarming with miners already. “You said this place was a new strike,” he said to Lorena as he sat his horse beside the wagon seat while the four of them paused to gaze down toward the gulch below them.

  “It is,” Lorena replied. “It don’t take long for word to get around about a new strike. Hell, next week, there’ll be a heap more folks movin’ in, and more the week after that. We’ve gotten over the real winter weather now. There’ll be a lot more placer minin’ goin’ on in a week or two now that the creeks ain’t frozen over, and all these miners will be lookin’ for someplace to spend everything they dig up. That’s why we want to get set up for business while we still might have a chance to find a good spot, so we can help these boys get rid of some of that gold dust.”

  “Why do you want to stay in that business?” Wolf could not help asking. Lorena was not a young woman anymore. “Why don’t you forget about Deadwood Gulch and maybe settle down with one man on a farm or a ranch?”