Spirit Wolf, page 5
“The dog just stood stock still like he didn’t even see that wolf. And then, when the crowd was so quiet you could hear those two animals breathing, then the stranger leaned over the edge of the arena and said, ‘Kill.’ Just like he was passing the time talking about the weather, he said, ‘Kill.’
“That dog headed for the wolf like there was nothing in the world he hated more. He was all teeth and muscle and bone, and he meant to kill himself a wolf.
“The wolf sidestepped the first rush kind of clumsy, like, and the dog crashed into the wall like he meant to go clear through it. Then he swung around real fast, faster than you would think a dog like that could move, and lunged again.
“The wolf was moving a little better by then. Maybe he’d worked the stiffness out of his muscles after having laid in that cage for so long, but it seemed that he was pulling strength straight from the earth like that Greek wrestler who got up good as new every time he was thrown down.
“It must have gone on for five or ten minutes: the dog trying to get hold of the wolf, pin him against the wall, and the wolf always slipping away, just kind of gliding around that ring.
“It seemed kind of funny then, because I didn’t know what he was up to, but the wolf seemed more interested in the people around the ring than he was in the dog that was trying to kill him. Then he saw Charley. He kind of stopped. That was just the opening the dog had been waiting for. He hit that wolf with his shoulder and knocked him clear into the wall. He was on him in a second.
“There they were, jaw to jaw, and the men screaming. They wanted to see the kill. The money didn’t matter to them then. They just wanted to see those animals tear each other to pieces.
“For a minute, it looked like the mastiff was going to do just that, but the wolf got out from under that killer dog. I don’t know how he did it, but he did. And on his way up, he reached under that dog and gutted him. I’d never seen anything like that. That big old mastiff was standing there on his own guts, whining.
“The stranger was screaming for a gun, and ol’ Charley was yelling that nobody was going to kill his wolf. But the stranger didn’t want to kill the wolf, he wanted to kill his dog. He wanted to put that magnificent animal out of its misery.
“Something like that would never occur to ol’ Charley, so they were yelling and wrestling with each other. Finally, the stranger shoved Charley, and I guess that’s what saved his life.”
Flynn stopped again and took another pull on the bottle. It was then that Nash felt the silence, the rapt attention of the men in the crowd. Every eye was riveted on the old Irishman. No one moved. No one drank. Flynn’s eyes peered into the icy dark, seeing things his listeners could scarcely imagine. When he spoke again, it was in a whisper.
“That wolf had been waiting for Charley to get within reach, and when the scuffle took Charley to the edge of the arena, that wolf went up the wall like he was just as accustomed to running straight up as he was to running flat out. When he got up as high as he could go, he took a swipe at Charley with teeth that looked like they could split a cow’s hind leg. It was just then that the stranger shoved Charley, and the wolf missed Charley’s throat, but his arm was laid open to the bone. I saw it! I was standing there, and I saw the whole thing!
“By then the stranger had a rifle, and he put a bullet through the mastiff’s head. Then he just walked out, and nobody ever saw him again.
“Charley was screaming for a rifle too. He had wrapped his shirt around his arm and pretty much stopped the bleeding.
“I was kind of sorry to see that wolf get killed, but I knew in the end that it would be the kindest thing. Charley told me during the fight that he had bet all his poke from the summer’s bounty hunting on the dog. He figured with that wolf starved down, it wouldn’t have a chance. Charley was mean even when he was feeling good, and he sure wasn’t feeling good after he lost his money.
“Anyway, somebody handed him a rifle, and I expected it to end right there. I should have known better, knowing Charley like I did. He grabs the rifle and turns to the crowd. ‘I’ll kill the first man to touch that wolf,’ he says. There was no doubt he meant it, either. He was crazy as I’ve ever seen him, with his eyes kind of glazed. He was out of control, carried along by his craziness like a leaf in a storm.
“And then he says, ‘I’m going to kill that son of a bitch myself, and it’s going to take a long time in the doing. He’s going to pay for losing my grubstake. He’s going to hurt the way my arm hurts now.’
“Charley talked a couple cowboys there into slipping a loop around the wolf’s neck and heels, to get him back in the cage. But when Charley saw him stretched out and helpless, he jumped down in the ring with a cattle prod. He started laying it on that wolf like he was the source of all the world’s woes, big, deep thumps each time he hit him. Finally one of the cowboys said if Charley hit the wolf again, he’d let his end of the rope go. That quieted Charley right down. Even in the shape he was, that wolf would have cut Charley to pieces if he could have reached him.
“They got the wolf loaded back on the wagon. He was really in tough shape then. I figured the wagon ride would kill him. Charley had beat him up so bad, on top of no water or food. Charley borrowed a couple bucks from me and had Doc Borlund sew up his arm. He came out of Doc’s office cussing about paying two dollars for fifteen minutes’ work. Then he set off.
“Well, gents, I didn’t see him for the next couple days. I still had a little business to take care of in town. Her name was Millie, if I remember right,” Flynn said with a grin.
A trickle of nervous laughter pattered through the crowd, like the first drops of a summer rain storm that moves on before it gets started.
“I was on my way out to the ranch. It had cooled off all of a sudden, and there was a touch of snow on the peaks. I figured I better get back in case we had a storm coming. But on the way, I got to thinking about Charley and the wolf. I wondered if Charley had killed him yet. The more I thought about it, the more it stuck in my craw. I didn’t fancy the idea of leaving that poor, dumb animal to suffer, so I decided to ride past Charley’s. If the wolf was still in the cage, I’d put a bullet in it myself.
“Well, I rode up to Charley’s dugout, and right away I knew there was something wrong. The door was standing open and there was no smoke coming out of the chimney. Either one would have been all right, but both together spelled trouble, just as sure as if there was a sign on the door. I thought maybe the bite had gotten infected, and he was too sick to take care of himself. But as I walked up to the cabin, I could see ol’ Charley’s tracks in the skiff of snow from the night before.
“There was one set came out of the cabin nice and easy, like Charley had stepped out the front door for his morning’s trip to the outhouse. But then there was another set of tracks going back into the house at a run, and another set hoofing it outside again. So I started to follow those tracks. Well, right away, I saw what was wrong.…”
Flynn let his listeners wait a moment.
“Out back behind the cabin was the cage, but the door was open and the wolf was gone. I almost walked past it without noticing, but something pulled me back, and then I saw them. There was another set of tracks, going up to the cage and then leaving again. I knew they weren’t Charley’s boots. They didn’t even really look like boot tracks, more like somebody had walked out there in his stocking feet or something like that. Somebody had let the wolf out. When Charley found out about it, he got his rifle and lit out after the wolf.
“I figured he’d catch the wolf, too, as sick as it likely was by then. But I followed Charley just to be sure. The trail led down a ridge for quite a while, and I knew that wolf was sick. Only sick animals run downhill like that. About a half mile from the cabin, the tracks led up to the edge of this little sandstone rim over the creek bottom. The wolf had walked up to the edge and slipped off. You could see where he’d bounced off the rocks on the way down, and then Charley’s tracks, going down right after him.
“I wasn’t as eager as ol’ Charley was. There was a lot of heavy cedar down there along the creek. Sick or not, that wolf wasn’t something I wanted to meet up with in cover like that, so I started to walk downstream along that rim. Well, it wasn’t but a little while before I picked up their tracks down below the creek. I was going along as quiet as I could, watching for Charley or the wolf.
“It was then that I saw what had happened. The trail dipped into some really heavy juniper and then popped out into a clearing on the other side. Charley was laying there. I don’t know how he did it, but he had dragged himself all the way across the clearing.”
Flynn stopped, and a shudder ran through his body. He took a long pull on the bottle, and then another.
“Maybe it was just the meanness in him. I don’t know what else would explain it. Anybody else would have just laid down and died, but Charley pulled himself across that clearing, dragging his guts behind him. He had stepped into the juniper, and the wolf had gutted him just as clean as he had the killer dog.”
Flynn paused waiting for the murmur that ran through the crowd to die before he continued.
“When I got there, the wolf was still there, just sitting, watching. He’d been there all that time, watching Charley die. He looked up at me, and all I could see was those emerald eyes. I thought, Oh my God, I’m dead, too. But the wolf just looked at me and disappeared. He just disappeared. I went down to Charley, but he was cold by then, so I got his wagon and took him back to the cabin and buried him.”
He stopped and looked into the fire for what seemed to be a long time, light and shadow playing across his face. “Ain’t anybody out there got a bottle of whiskey? This one died on me,” Flynn said, turning and flinging it as far as he could. “Anyhow, that’s the last time I saw that beautiful beast. There’s others that say they’ve seen his shadow going through the trees. To hear tell, everybody who has seen the wolf since then has put a mortal slug into the animal. I know that cats are supposed to have nine lives, but if all those people are telling the truth, that wolf surely puts a cat to shame.
“People say that the wolf has killed men since Charley. That could be. I don’t know. A man can break a leg in this country and never be found. It’s easy to blame an animal for fate. On the other hand, I can tell you that wolf took a fearsome joy in killing ol’ Charley. He’s killed more cattle than he could eat in a dozen lifetimes. It’s the only animal I’ve ever seen that will kill a calf and just walk away, leaving it for the magpies.
“Some of you have asked how you’ll know this wolf. But you don’t have to worry about that. He lost a toe from his right front foot in Charley’s trap. Some folks around here have taken to calling him Three Toes. Others aren’t nearly so charitable. He’s white, like I said, with dark fur around the eyes and on the back toward the tail. There are probably other white three-toed wolves around this country, but you’ll know him when you see him, the same way a greenhorn knows the rattle of a snake the first time he hears it. There’s something about this wolf that touches you down deep. There’s something in his eyes …”
Flynn broke off. A log was tossed on the fire, and a spray of sparks climbed into the cold black sky. Flynn stood at the fire like a man looking into the door of hell. He was still standing there as splinters from the group of men began to spin off into the darkness, bound for bedrolls and an uneasy sleep.
Nash and Uriah walked back to their camp in silence. They tossed a couple chunks of wood on the embers of the fire and crawled into the lean-to.
It was warmer there, but not much, and both hurried to shed their outer clothes and climb into their bedrolls. They said good night and rolled over to go to sleep, but Nash couldn’t take his mind off the wolf. In his mind’s eye, he could see him, head down, poised like a snake to strike, long white fangs and green eyes. Eyes as green as the swimming hole on the creek back home. Nash lay rigid, pretending to sleep. He lay there for what seemed to be hours, and he was still awake when his father muttered, “What the hell have I gotten us into?”
4
The lean-to the next morning made all those cold mornings back home at the cabin seem tropical in comparison. A thick rime of frost lined the inside of the canvas, and when Nash reached up and touched it, it dusted down onto his neck. Nash didn’t want to leave the relative warmth of his bedroll, but he knew he must. It was still dark and the light of the kerosene lanterns bobbed around the campground. Nash dressed and crawled outside to the sound of muttered voices and the rattle of saddles and bridles being put to horses. Uriah had already fried some sidepork, and Nash fell to, sopping up some of the grease with bread sliced from one of his mother’s fresh loaves. Uriah had eaten and was sipping coffee made with water taken from the creek that morning.
While Nash was eating, his father walked over to the corral. When he returned, he was leading Nell and the roan. Both were saddled and ready to go.
As Nash scrubbed out the frying pan with snow, Uriah squatted down next to him. Uriah watched a few moments and then said, “You know we don’t have to do this. I’ve been thinking about what Flynn said last night, and it might just be better if we packed up and went home. There’s no shame in that. From the look of things, there’s more than one party here that plans to do just that.”
Nash had noticed. Men were packing up, readying themselves for the trip back to their homes. In the shade of Flynn’s speech, the hunt had lost its aura. Although none of the hunters would have admitted it, Flynn had frightened them. They wanted no part of this wolf. The cattlemen could do their own killing.
Nash was wavering. He didn’t like the idea of going home, admitting to the Anderson children, admitting to Ettie, to himself, that he was still more child than man. But he didn’t want to track that killer wolf through these hills, either.
Just then Bullsnake stepped up behind Uriah. “Tough decision isn’t it, sonny? Maybe you better ride back home on that plow horse and ask your ma. Is that what you’re going to do, boy?”
Uriah stood and turned around. “I don’t remember inviting you over here,” he said, “and now I’m asking you to leave.”
“Well, as long as you’re asking, I might,” Bullsnake said. “I get all upset when people aren’t polite to me. I don’t think you would like it much if I got upset, mister.”
“I don’t like you much either way,” Uriah said, an edge poking out of his voice like a rock breaking the smooth flow of a stream.
Bullsnake sprang back in mock fear. “My, my, my. Pa is getting a little feisty. I better run back to my camp before I get so scared I pee my pants.”
Nash saw the muscles knot along his father’s shoulders, and his eyes seemed to glaze for a moment, becoming opaque. Nash had only seen that happen once before. His father had been shoeing Nell, but the big animal kept pulling away from him. Each time he positioned the shoe on the mare’s hoof, she would take it away from him. He had worked on her for nearly an hour, quietly, soundlessly. Then he began muttering. It was then that Uriah’s eyes turned opaque. He was holding the tiny shoeing hammer in his hands, and that was all that saved Nell’s life. If Uriah had had something heavier, he would have killed her. But he didn’t. He began beating her with the hammer. Nash watched, and then he had begun screaming at his father to stop. He picked up a stick and jabbed Uriah in the leg, and his father had turned, hammer upraised, and Nash thought the monster was going to strike him, kill him. Then, as Nash watched, the monster died, and his father returned. Uriah had walked rubber-legged over to a stool. He sat there shaking, pale, as though he were very ill.
Then Uriah had stared at Nash as though he were sitting naked before his son, and his eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. We’ll take Nell over to the Andersons’ tomorrow. He’s a better farrier than I am. I’m sorry, Nash. I’m sorry.”
And now Nash stood there in front of the fire and hoped that monster wouldn’t come back again. He hoped he wouldn’t ever see him again.
But Uriah’s eyes cleared, and Bullsnake moved off, chuckling to himself.
Uriah climbed into the saddle, and Nash mounted Nell. They rode outside the circle of light from the campfires and waited a moment for their eyes to adjust to the darkness before moving on.
As they waited there, Nash asked, “What makes him mean like that?”
“I don’t know, son,” Uriah said. “All I know is that he is what he is. We have enough to do worrying about what we are.”
They climbed a ridge to a high, flat plateau that stretched off to the southwest for miles, and put the North Star over their right shoulders. The night was still black and the stars bright against it. Patches of grass and brush loomed out of the snow, and Nash saw a dozen wolves crouching beside the trail—until proximity transformed them into juniper and sage.
The snow muffled the sound of the horses’ hooves, and as false dawn touched the sky to the east and dimmed the stark black and white relief of the night, the animals seemed almost to be swimming in a sea of white. An hour had lapsed before Uriah spoke. “There’s a big coulee up here that comes off the east fork of Dry Creek. It’s heavy with brush and cover. I’m going to let you off at the mouth. I want you to wait there about forty-five minutes or an hour, while I take the two horses up to the head. Then you come up along the bottom. Whenever you come to a branch bear to the right. I’ll be waiting up at the top for anything you spook ahead of you.
“And Nash, I want you to be real careful. I don’t think that wolf is as dangerous as Flynn said—if I did, I wouldn’t let you go. But I don’t want you taking any chances anyway. Anywhere that brush gets too heavy for you to see into it, you climb the canyon wall. Just sit down and watch. Animals are funny. They’ll lay real quiet while you’re busting through the brush, but stop a minute, and they think you spotted them. Their nerve breaks, and that can be fatal. Remember that.”
