A Wolf in the Fold

By then I was breathing normally and the ache had faded and my body was my own again. “You’re mistaken.” I spun and lanced the knife into his left eye socket. The six-inch blade sliced through his eyeball as if it were a grape. I thrust as deep as it would go, and twisted.

Clell Butcher reacted as most men did. His whole body stiffened and he staggered back. His mouth opened, but the only sound that came out was a strangled whine of disbelief and astonishment. I tried to hold on, but warm blood was spurting from the socket, making the hilt too slick to grip.

Clell looked at me. The white of his other eye made it seem as big as a saucer. He tried to say something, maybe to ask why, but all that did was cause blood to flow from his nose and both sides of his mouth.

Ordinarily, I let them die without saying a word. But now I heard myself saying, “If you had agreed to ride off with your brother and me, this might not have happened.” Who was I kidding? I could not spare them if I wanted to.

Clell plopped to his knees. His hand rose toward me, but he was weakening fast and his arm slumped halfway to my neck.

“Nothing personal,” I said quietly.

For a minister to take a life was unthinkable. Clell was confused and it showed. Again he sought to lay his big hands on me. That he had lasted this long was remarkable. Most died within five to ten seconds.

“I won’t make the rest of your family suffer. You have my word.”

Clell didn’t hear me. He was dead. His chin had dropped to his great chest and his body slowly oozed forward until his forehead rested on the dirt. His hands were in front of him, palms up, as if he were begging a favor.

I should not have felt anything, but I did. Bending, I tugged at the knife. It was stuck. I had to work it back and forth for the longest while before it slid free. After wiping it on his shirt, I returned it to my boot.

I was up and out of the gully and hurrying toward the house when I glimpsed movement. A figure materialized next to a lit window. No, two figures, the second low and shaggy and attached to a leash.

I wanted to shout to warn the Tanners, but they wouldn’t hear me. I drew the Remington, but I was not close enough.

Metal glinted at the window. The flash of the muzzle and the crack of the shot were simultaneous. Five more boomed, rolling across the grassland like peals of thunder. Then Ty whirled and bolted into the night, Samson at his side.

Soon the place would be crawling with punchers. No explanation I could offer would explain my presence. The only one who might stand up for me was Gertrude, and she was probably dead.

There is a time to fight and a time to light a shuck. A good Regulator has to know the difference. Pivoting on a boot heel, I raced toward Brisco. Once again fate had foiled me. If it wasn’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all of late.

The ride to town was a blur. I was too dazed to think. With Gertrude gone I could forget being paid the rest of the thousand dollars. I had no reason to finish the job. The Butchers were safe, a not altogether unappealing prospect.

I fell into bed fully dressed. I slept longer than I usually would and did not shuffle down to the restaurant until almost ten. No sooner did I take my seat than Calista was beside him.

“Have you heard the latest?”

“Not more bad news, I hope.”

“There have been more killings,” Calista related. “Last night at the LT someone shot through the parlor window at the Tanners.”

“I will be happy to conduct their funeral,” I offered. It would be a fitting touch. Then I could head for Denver.

“You need only conduct Lloyd’s. He was shot in the head. Phil was hit in the shoulder and will live.”

“And Gertrude?” I asked, thinking of Daisy.

“From what I understand, a bullet missed her by a whisker. One of the LT hands was in town a while ago. He says she is in a rage.”

“At who?” As if I couldn’t guess.

“You haven’t heard the rest,” Calista said. “After the shooting, the cowboys spread out to find the culprit and discovered the body of Clell Butcher in a gully not far from the house. He had been stabbed.”

“My word,” I exclaimed. “Who did it?”

“That is what they and everyone else would like to know. It’s a mystery. If Clell shot the Tanners, then who killed him?”

“What about the other Butchers? Were any of them involved?” I half hoped the cowboys had caught Ty and relieved me of the responsibility of having to take care of him myself.

“Not that anyone can prove,” Calista answered. “Some of the hands thought they heard a horse gallop off.” She paused. “It gets stranger. They found tracks under the window, in a flower bed. Tracks of a man, and paw prints.”

I feigned surprise. “Paws?”

“That’s what they say,” Calista confirmed with a bob of her head. “Big paw prints, too. Some of the cowboys think they are dog prints, but others say the tracks are those of a wolf.”

“Maybe they’re coyote prints,” I suggested.

“I’m no tracker, but supposedly there is a difference and these were definitely not made by any coyote.”

“How peculiar.”