Day of the Wolf Page 9

  “What is it?” Lorena responded, but Billie Jean didn’t answer. Instead she simply increased her motioning until Lorena gave in and walked to the door. “What in the hell is eatin’ you?” Lorena demanded.

  “It’s Wolf. He’s done broke outta that army jail and he’s saddling his horse right now. Where’s Rose?”

  Lorena’s attention was captured right away. “She’s in the cabin with an early customer, that young soldier that works in the administration center. I think he’s fallen in love with her.”

  “Well, we ain’t got time to wait for her,” Billie Jean said. “I let him have my carbine, and I’m fixin’ to get him some cartridges to go with it. I hope that’s all right with you, since you’re the one that really owns it. The soldiers took his rifle.”

  “Oh, hell yeah,” Lorena said as the two prostitutes hurried back toward the corral. “I reckon we owe him that much. You go ahead and get the cartridges. I’ll be at the barn.”

  The bay gelding, standing near the back of the corral, threw his head up alertly at the first sound of Wolf’s low whistle, then trotted straight to his master, waiting at the gate. “You ready to travel, boy?” Wolf greeted him as he slipped the bridle over the horse’s ears. The bay stood patiently while he threw the saddle blanket and saddle on him and tightened the girth strap. He was leading the horse out of the corral when Lorena showed up, followed a few moments later by Billie Jean, carrying a sack of ammunition and what looked like an old bedsheet. Like Billie Jean, Lorena was appalled to see the open wound on the back of Wolf’s head. “Who did that piece of work?” she wanted to know.

  “That marshal,” Wolf replied.

  “I don’t mean that,” Lorena snapped. “I know who knocked you in the head. I mean who shaved that big patch outta your hair?” She stepped up behind him to get a closer look. “They put some kind of grease on it but didn’t bother to bandage it up.”

  “The doctor did that,” Wolf explained. “He was wantin’ to stitch it up, but I had some other business to tend to, and there ain’t no time to bother with it now. I’ve got to get on my way.”

  “The hell you are,” Billie Jean insisted. “You can wait five minutes while I slap a bandage on your head. You’ll be catching flies, and bugs, and everything else in that open cut.” She started ripping the sheet into strips. He took a quick look in the direction of the road to the fort and decided to accept her doctoring. “Get down on your knees so I can see what I’m doin’,” she ordered. “You’re too damn tall.” As she fashioned the bandage around his head, she and Lorena questioned him about the details that led up to his escape.

  “Where are you headin’ from here?” Lorena asked.

  “I ain’t sure, maybe the Black Hills,” he said. “I spent a winter up there a few years ago. There were plenty of deer and elk up there and plenty of places where a man could lose himself. The Injuns call the hills Paha Sapa. They say it’s a sacred place and they’ve got a treaty with the government that keeps white folks out, so I don’t reckon the army will follow me there. It don’t make much difference if they do, ’cause there’s plenty of hills and woods to hide in.”

  “Which way would that be?” Lorena pressed.

  “Yonder way,” he said, pointing to the north.

  “All right, I just want to make sure we send the soldiers off in some other direction when they get here.” She reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out two coins. “There’s forty dollars gold there. That’ll help you a little. You take care of yourself, boy.”

  He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to tell her how much he appreciated the gift. She interrupted him before he started. “Don’t worry about it. I know you ain’t good with words. Just don’t lose your scalp.”

  “I’ll try not to. Much obliged,” he finally managed before he climbed into the saddle and turned the bay’s head north.

  “I know you are,” Lorena muttered as they watched him until he faded into the darkness.

  “What are you doing out here in the dark?” They turned to see Rose walking toward them. “I was looking all over for you.”

  “Sayin’ good-bye to Wolf,” Lorena replied. “He broke outta that army jailhouse.” She observed her young friend’s obvious distress. “He had to get away before an army patrol shows up lookin’ for him,” she explained. “There wasn’t any time for long good-byes.”

  “You were busy, anyway,” Billie Jean commented.

  “That’s right,” Lorena said, knowing full well that Rose was overly disappointed to have missed a chance to see Wolf. “How is that little private you’ve been entertainin’ gettin’ along? I swear, I believe you’ll have him proposin’ to you before long.” She winked at Billie Jean, although it was so dark by then that Billie Jean probably did not see it. “That’ud be a sight better’n pairin’ up with a drifter like Wolf, wouldn’t it?”

  “There ain’t no doubt about that,” Billie Jean quickly agreed. “Men like him would just as likely strike out for someplace without telling anybody they’re going and you never see ’em again.”

  “I’m not wanting to settle down with anybody,” Rose insisted. “And I sure as hell don’t wanna be a private’s wife. I’m not any more interested in Wolf than you two. It’s chilly out here,” she said in closing. “I’m going in by the fire.” She turned abruptly and started toward the door of the saloon. In the darkness, her two friends could not see the disappointment in her face.

  Chapter 5

  Lieutenant Colonel Bradley looked up when the big deputy marshal strode into his office. “Oh…Bull,” he acknowledged, “glad we were able to catch you before you got away.” He motioned toward a side chair across from his desk. “Sit down.”

  “Mornin’, Colonel,” Ned responded. “I was almost gone when your man caught me. What did you wanna see me about?”

  “I’m sure you heard we had a prisoner escape last night—that Wolf fellow.”

  “Yeah, I heard,” Ned remarked. “Heard he stole the O.D.’s horse.”

  “That’s right, he did. We recovered the horse. It came trotting back to the stables this morning, but we don’t know if the prisoner fell off or turned it loose.”

  Ned pictured Wolf as he said, “I’d bet he turned the horse loose, ’cause I doubt he fell off.” He patiently waited for the colonel to get to the point of the meeting.

  “Well,” Bradley began, “the prisoner’s still on the loose. We sent a patrol down to that hog ranch to see if he went back there, but they got there a little too late. He had been there and picked up his horse and was already gone by that time. Lieutenant Willis was leading the patrol and he talked to one of the prostitutes who’s supposed to be a friend of Wolf’s. She said he had come there that night and took his horse, and said he took off in a hurry along the North Platte, heading west. Lieutenant Willis followed the river for about four miles, but he said it was too dark to see any tracks to confirm that to be the fugitive’s line of flight.”

  It wasn’t difficult for Ned to see where this interview was heading. “So you’re wantin’ me to take over and try to track this fellow down. Is that it?”

  “I don’t have the time or the troops to waste on it right now,” Bradley explained. “But I want that man caught and brought to justice. I figure that it’s more in your line of work to track men like Wolf down.”

  “Well, I reckon I’ve had a heap of experience in that part of my job,” Ned admitted. “But I’m kinda surprised you’re makin’ such a fuss over catchin’ this fellow. He ain’t done much but get in a fight with one of your soldiers, has he? Seems to me you wouldn’t wanna waste time on a saddle tramp like that.”

  “It’s a matter of principle,” Bradley replied. “He escaped from army custody, and that doesn’t look good on my—I mean, the post’s record. More than a barroom fight, though, he’s wanted for assault on one of my sergeants, escape from federal custody, and stealing a horse. I want to let him and every drifter like him know that they’ll answer for that.”

  Ned
listened patiently before responding. “I’m sure you understand that I don’t operate independently. I’ve been ordered back to Omaha as soon as my business here was finished—which it is.”

  “I appreciate that,” Bradley remarked, “so I telegraphed your headquarters in Omaha last night and requested you to be reassigned to track down this fugitive. I received the federal marshal’s change of orders this morning. So it looks like you’ll be delayed in returning to Omaha.”

  Not surprised by the sudden change of assignment, Ned shrugged his indifference. He had no particular desire to return to Omaha right away, and it made little difference to him in what part of the territory he worked. He had no family to return to, and really no family at all except for a brother who lived in Denver and whom he had last seen four years ago. Besides, this fellow Wolf held a particular interest for him. Ned was sure the Indian-raised man would offer a genuine challenge to his skills as a tracker. “If I run this fellow to ground,” he asked, “where am I supposed to take him? Back here?”

  “Well, I assume so,” Bradley replied, “since this is where he escaped from.”

  “Just wanted to be sure. A fellow like that could be hard to catch up with—might be chasin’ him a long way. Could end up closer to some other military post where it’d be easier to turn him over to them.”

  Bradley thought about it for only a second before saying, “I guess it doesn’t really matter where you take him, just as long as you catch him, although I would prefer it to be here if possible.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Ned responded as he got up to leave. They were not empty words. Ned Bull always strived to do his best, and in most cases that was better than anybody else’s best. He had been employed in the U.S. Marshals Service for over fifteen years. During that time, he had seen many deputy marshals come and go, some of their own volition, many others feetfirst in a pine box. He naturally credited good luck with his long tenure, but that was only part of it. Ned was a patient man, and not given to taking foolish chances. He was a skillful tracker and, not least of all, a dead shot with a ’73 Winchester.

  Outside, he untied the reins from the corner porch post and turned the red roan away from the porch before climbing aboard. “Well, Brownie,” he addressed the horse, “I reckon we’d best go right back out to that hog ranch. We’ve got a job to do.” He aimed Brownie’s head at the corner of the parade ground and the road that led to Three-Mile Hog Ranch and started on the hunt for Wolf, his sorrel packhorse following on a lead rope tied to his saddle. The sorrel was already packing the supplies needed for a long trip, so there was no time lost to that chore.

  “Wait a damn minute,” Lorena yelled when her caller continued to knock on her door. Her request succeeded in giving her only a few moments of peace before the knocking began again, this time a bit louder.

  “Lorena,” a man’s deep voice called, “open up.”

  “Dammit,” she yelled again, angry to have a caller this early in the morning. “I’m on the damn chamber pot! Just hold your horses.” The knocking stopped. After a few minutes, she opened the door to find Ned Bull standing there, a grin on his face. “Well, Marshal,” she said, surprised to see the big deputy, “you musta got an early case of the itch to come around before I’ve even had breakfast.”

  “Afraid not,” he replied. Even if he had the urge, the mental picture of the disheveled middle-aged woman seated on a chamber pot was more than enough to discourage any thoughts of a carnal nature. “I just wanna talk to you for a minute about your friend Wolf.”

  Already having guessed the purpose of the marshal’s call on her, she sought to play coy. “Well, now,” she teased, pulling her housecoat up tighter around her throat, “people have to pay me for my time, and that’s for talkin’, diddlin’, or whatever.”

  “Like I said, this ain’t a business call. I just wanna ask you a few questions.”

  “All the same,” she began, still playing coy in spite of an aching head that was crying for black coffee to help lessen the effects of too much drinking the night before.

  “Well, let me put it this way,” Ned interrupted, tired already of the game. “I don’t have time to fool around. I can just as easily haul your ass back to the guardhouse for aidin’ and abettin’ an escaped prisoner—and lock you up till the army gets through with you. So let’s make this easier on both of us. All right?”

  Lorena couldn’t help grinning. “You wouldn’t really do that, would you, Marshal? You look like a big ol’ softie to me. Hell, I was just havin’ you on a little.” She paused to give him a wink. “Besides, I know they ain’t got no place to hold women in that guardhouse.” They both grinned then. “But for God’s sake, let me put on a pot of coffee before I keel over dead.”

  “I could use a cup of coffee myself,” he said, and walked over to the small table by the window and sat down to wait for her.

  “Wouldn’t hurt if you stirred up that fire in the stove a little while I go get some water,” she said. He picked a couple of sticks of wood out of a box behind the stove while she went outside to the pump. Using one of the sticks for a poker, he poked at the reluctant flames until they caught on again, then dropped the sticks onto the rekindled fire.

  Lorena was back shortly with the coffeepot filled with water, and soon there was coffee bubbling on the stove. Never in a hurry when there was coffee working, Ned waited patiently while Lorena pulled herself together to face yet another day. She sat down at the table with him with two cups of the boiling hot liquid. “All right,” she said. “Whaddaya wanna ask me about Wolf?”

  Before he had a chance to open his mouth, there was a light tap on the door, and a male voice asked, “You up, Lorena?”

  “Yeah,” Lorena called out. “Come on in.”

  The door opened to reveal the owner of the male voice to be Billie Jean. She paused when the door was still only half-open. “You entertaining?”

  “No, this is an official call from a U.S. deputy marshal,” Lorena replied grandly. “Come on in.” Then she looked quickly at Ned. “Is that all right, Marshal? I’m the official coffee maker around here. Rose will most likely show up in a minute or two.” Ned shrugged his indifference. A moment later, Rose came in, right on cue, equally surprised to find the lawman there. Ned noted that, unlike Lorena and Billie Jean, Rose was at once nervous and seemingly fearful.

  “I reckon we’ve got everybody now,” Ned declared. “So I need to know what happened to your guide last night. One thing I know for sure is that he was here to get his horse.” He looked askance at Lorena. “Or should I say your horse?” Lorena nodded soberly, and Ned went on. “Where’d he say he was headin’ when he rode outta here?”

  “I’ll tell you the same as I told those soldiers last night,” Lorena said. “He didn’t say much of anythin’ to the three of us—just showed up suddenly, grabbed the horse, and took off. Didn’t none of us have time to ask him where he was headed.” She looked around at the other two women for confirmation.

  “That’s the God’s honest truth,” Billie Jean swore solemnly, and gave Rose a confirming nod.

  “Which way did he go when he left here?” Ned asked.

  “West,” all three answered, almost simultaneously. “He headed west to follow the North Platte River,” Rose volunteered further, causing both Lorena and Billie Jean to frown in her direction.

  “How do you know that?” Ned asked. “You just said he didn’t say much of anything, just took your horse and took off.”

  “Well,” Lorena answered for her, wishing at that moment that she had not told Rose anything. “I forgot. He did say he was headed that way, but I told those soldiers that last night.”

  Ned shifted his gaze back and forth among the three faces all trying to present an earnest facade. He finally let it settle upon Rose. “You know what? I’ve been thinkin’ about what I’d do if I was in his shoes. I believe I’d head someplace like the Black Hills where there’s a lot of room to hide—up there where the Indians don’t want any white men t
o come. Now that they’ve found gold up there, there’s so many miners slippin’ in their sacred Paha Sapa that it’d be damn hard to find one more white man.” He caught an immediate flush of panic come over Rose’s face.

  “He didn’t go there!” she blurted. “He said he wasn’t going there. He said he was heading west.”

  Ned smiled at the naive young woman. He couldn’t help a feeling of compassion for her apparent concern for the fugitive, but she had told him what he wanted to know—unless she was smarter than he gave her credit for. He doubted that. The fact was, however, that he had no earthly idea where Wolf had in mind to run, but judging by her fearful reaction, he now at least had a place to start looking. The problem he faced was what he had said about the odds of finding a man in that territory of high mountains and steep passes. He wouldn’t bet on any success. He’d be damn lucky to find Wolf. The man was more Indian than white, but that was what the government paid him to do, so he’d give it his best shot.

  He stayed long enough to get another cup of coffee, asking the women about how they happened to know such a man as Wolf. They answered his questions freely, and all made it a point to convince him that the man he was assigned to arrest had done nothing wrong. “My job ain’t decidin’,” he finally told them. “My job is to bring ’em in and let the smart folks do the decidin’. Thank you for the coffee. I’ll be on my way now. Your boy has already got a big enough head start.”

  The three of them watched from the back window of Lorena’s cabin as Ned walked toward the corral, leading his horses. “What’s he heading there for?” Billie Jean wondered aloud.

  “Maybe he’s looking for feed for his horses,” Rose suggested. But it was soon apparent what the big man was doing when he began studying the tracks around the stable and corral.