Spirit Wolf (12 page)

“Grandma heard that, and she came out of the cabin with a shotgun. When she saw what they had done to him, what they were doing to him, she turned the shotgun on him and pulled the trigger. She tried to kill herself, too, but it was one of those long-barreled muzzle-loaders, and she couldn't reach the trigger.

“So she pointed the muzzle at her chest and banged the butt against the porch. Dad said the hammers on that old gun would slip at the damnedest times, but not then, not when Grandma needed to kill herself.

“Dad was up in the tree, watching and praying the gun would go off, that he wouldn't be seen.” Uriah let his breath go in one long sigh. He seemed deflated, as though his spirit had escaped with his breath, leaving him smaller, more vulnerable.

Nash was torn between his need to comfort his tormented father, and his need to hear the rest of the story. In the end, he sat quietly, waiting for Uriah to speak.

“But the gun didn't go off …,” Uriah said, his voice trailing off into another long sigh. “I won't tell you what they did to your great-grandma, except to say that those … those … butchers scalped her and hacked both of them up until it was hard to tell they were human. All that time, Dad was lying up in that tree, too scared to move, not knowing if he would be next.

“And when he couldn't watch anymore, he looked down, and there below, looking up at him, was a young Santee buck. Dad knew him. They had gone hunting together once. There was blood on the boy's hands, and he looked at Dad and grinned as he wiped the blood on his chest.

“Dad said it was the most evil thing he had ever seen. Then he felt warmth running down his leg, and he realized he had wet his pants. That made the Indian boy laugh, and he ran back to the cabin to help the others loot it. When they were done, they burned the place …

“Dad was in that tree for two days, in a kind of stupor, too scared to come down. Even after a bunch of men came to the farm and buried what they could find of your great-grandma and great-grandpa, he wouldn't leave that tree. Finally, one of the men climbed up the tree, pried him off that branch, and lowered him down.

“Dad didn't talk or eat for days afterwards. An uncle raised him, but Dad never did really settle down much, at least until he met Ma. Things picked up for him then, and it looked like everything would be all right. He was always good to me.”

Tears streamed down Uriah's cheeks, but his voice went on as emotionless as ever. “We used to fish a lot, and hunt, and he treated Ma like she was royalty, but he was quiet at times, and a little moody, too. I saw that then, but didn't recognize it until I got older—until I began to see it in myself.

“Like I said, things were going along pretty well. We were farming the old place, and Dad seemed to be getting better. He would joke with folks a lot more and tease my mother till she laughed pretty as a brook running over rocks.

“He even got so he'd go to town maybe once every couple weeks and have a drink with some of his friends. They'd play whist and drink and tell lies. That's what they were doing that night.”

Uriah's eyes settled on Nash, and Nash wondered again, if his father would continue.

“Mom and I were home. She was knitting something or another. I don't remember what it was now; she was always busy with something. Then Dad came in. He just kind of popped through the door. He called Ma and me into the kitchen and told us to sit down, but he wouldn't sit. He paced around the kitchen as though he was in a great hurry, but I don't think he even knew what he was doing. He told us then what happened to Grandpa and Grandma out on the farm, what the Indians did to them, and he kept saying, ‘Don't you see? Don't you see?'

“Then he started to tell us what happened that night in town. He and three of his friends had been playing whist at the bar when a couple drunk Indians came in. Indians weren't allowed to drink then, same as it is here in Montana. But they knew old Jimmy Pierce. He owned the bar where Dad played cards, and he never turned down any Indian's money as long as they drank that foul whiskey he sold them somewhere else.

“Everybody knew Jimmy was selling to the Indians, but he was careful, and it didn't bother folks much. Jimmy had a bell on the back door, and when it jingled, he knew there would be one or two Indians waiting in the back room for him. He kept his ‘Indian whiskey'—foul stuff that it was—locked up in a little room beside the bar, and he would pick up a bottle on his way back.

“But these two Indians came in the front where white folks drank, and that was bad. They told Jimmy they wanted a bottle. He told them to get out back, but they started to get loud. They wanted money for a bottle, the two of them collaring one man after another kind of menacing, like. Wasn't long before they made it over to the table where Dad was sitting with his friends.

“By this time Jimmy was reaching for the bung driver he kept behind the bar. He was going to toss 'em out. If Jimmy had gotten his dander up a little quicker, maybe the whole thing wouldn't have happened. Maybe things would have been different today.”

Uriah took a deep breath and let it go in a long sigh. “Anyway, these two drunk bucks were standing at Dad's table, swaying back and forth like a lodgepole in a high wind. Then this one buck looks at Dad and says, ‘Piss pants.'

“Dad said the rest of it was kind of hazy, kind of like he wasn't really there, like it was all bits and pieces of a dream that he was trying to remember when he woke up.

“But he remembered this. He remembered that the buck reached into a pouch on his belt and said to Dad, ‘How much you give for this?'

“Then he laid a scalp out on the table, a scalp with long golden hair. It was wiry with age and the shine was gone out of it, but there was no doubt in Dad's mind it belonged to his mother. Dad said he didn't remember anything after that, not until it was all over.” Uriah slipped into silence again, remembering.

“I talked to some of Dad's friends later. When that buck laid Grandma's scalp on the table, they said Dad snapped a leg off the table like most folks might break a match. He hit the one buck in the forehead with the leg and crushed his skull. The other one turned to run, but Dad reached out and caught him by the arm. The buck was trying to pull away, and Dad was trying to kill him. It was like some obscene dance, life and death high-stepping on a barroom floor. Finally, the Indian stumbled and fell, and Dad clubbed him to death.

“Everybody was kind of stunned. Dad had beaten both those men to a pulp before they could stop him. He just stood over them, hitting and hitting and hitting.

“Finally, someone shouted and Dad stopped. Kind of like he woke up. That's when he came home and told us what happened.” Uriah's shoulders were shaking, and he stopped speaking to take a deep breath, but the tears didn't stop. His voice came again as though from deep in a well, as though he were shouting from some faraway place. “Mom was crying. Just sitting at the table crying. Most often Dad couldn't stand to see her cry. If something happened that made Mom cry, Dad would drop whatever he was doing and hold her and talk to her soft-like, until he coaxed a smile out of her.

“But that night he didn't even seem to notice. He didn't seem to take much notice of me, either. He was talking like he was talking to himself, but he kept saying, ‘Don't you see? Don't you see?'

“Then Dad walked out the front door the same way he had come in, no warning. He was just gone.

“Mom was sitting at the table crying, but I just didn't know what to think. It was just too much for it to sink in all at once like that. So I was just sitting there, trying to make some sense out of what I'd heard.…

“And then—we heard the shot. Dad was in the barn. Mom found him. She wouldn't let me go in.… But after she found him, she got hold of herself. There were things that needed to be done, and everything was left on her, so she did what she had to.

“Mom kind of pined away after that. She died of fever a year or so later, and I moved in with one of Dad's cousins. They were good to me, but I felt real bad. Sometimes I still do.”

Some of the color was returning to Uriah's face, and he turned with what seemed to be great effort to face Nash. “That's why that old Indian bothers me, Nash. Indians took my grandfather and my father, and I'm afraid they'll take me.”

Nash sat stunned. Opening his mouth to speak seemed to take more effort than anything he had ever done. “He can't hurt us, Dad,” Nash said, put in the uncomfortable position of trying to comfort his father. “He's just an old man.”

“You don't understand,” Uriah said. “I'm not afraid of him. I'm afraid of what I might do to him.”

Nash wasn't hungry anymore. Neither was Uriah. The two repacked the saddlebags and rode the ridgetops toward camp. Ostensibly, they were hunting, but neither paid much attention to anything but his thoughts.

7

As they rode into camp, Uriah dropped the coyote off near the lean-to. A shout went up from one of the more distant tents, “The wolf. They got the wolf.”

Uriah tried to wave the men away, but they wouldn't miss the chance to see “Flynn's wolf.” Even Bullsnake straggled over, and it wasn't long before Nash wished he and his father had come into camp under cover of darkness.

“Well, lookee here,” Bullsnake said to the little group. “We got us some
wolf
here. You shoot this wolf, boy?”

Nash tried to ignore Bullsnake, but the troublemaker persisted, playing to his audience like a man of the stage. “Come on, boy. Tell us how you shot this killer wolf.” Bullsnake's voice dripped with sarcasm. “Did it ambush you, boy? Lay in wait behind a bush so he could reach out and grab you by the leg? Nah, that couldn't be it. If that had happened, you would have peed your pants, wouldn't you, boy?”

The other men were laughing and Nash looked to his father for support, but Uriah remained aloof, subdued. Nash had never felt so alone.

Flynn stepped up to Bullsnake. “This ‘wolf' is damn near as good as the one you got today, isn't it?” Flynn asked. “Maybe Nash didn't get a wolf, but he sure as hell got more than you did—slivers where you sit down.”

The little gathering hooted at that, too, and Bullsnake stomped off, muttering obscenities under his breath.

Nash didn't know if he should thank Flynn for his help—and risk embarrassing Uriah—or keep quiet. Nash stared helplessly at his father, and then at the Irishman. Flynn understood. He winked at the boy, but the gesture didn't hide the concern on his face. He stood there a moment while studying Uriah, perched on a log by the fire pit.

Finally, Uriah spoke, shaking loose the dark thoughts that had crowded his mind since he and Nash had talked that noon.

“Anybody see anything?”

“Nah. Nobody was out more than half a day. They know my arthritis is a better predictor of weather than the
Farmer's Almanac
will ever be. Didn't want to be caught out in a storm, so they came in early. Weather will change—and soon. You mark my words.”

“If we don't cut a track or something pretty soon, we might head back,” Uriah said. “That wolf could be miles from here. It might have died years ago.”

“Could be,” Flynn said. “Could be. I figure Abe Clark and his brother will be pulling out tomorrow, if a storm doesn't come up. You and Nash could ride in with them.”

“Comes to that, we can ride in by ourselves,” Uriah said a little too sharply.

“Yeah, I guess you could,” Flynn said. He took one more look at Uriah's back, shrugged at Nash, and began walking back toward his camp.

Uriah slouched over the fire, bent it seemed on shutting out everyone and everything. Then Nash heard him mutter, “Oh, hell.”

“Flynn,” he yelled at the departing figure. “Come over tonight. We'll finish those loin steaks.”

Flynn flashed a grin over his shoulder and waved his assent.

“Nash, I'm a little tired tonight. You take the horses over to the creek and water them—not too much, mind you. Then give them some oats and hay and rub them down. I'll get a fire going. Start the steaks.”

Nash collected the horses' reins and led the animals toward the corral. The muscles of his legs stretched as he walked, and that felt good after a day in the saddle. Nash's eyes were focused on his feet, but his mind was miles and years away, replaying an incident that happened to people he had never even known. He really didn't feel anything at all. He knew those people from so long ago were bricks he was built of, but he couldn't mourn them, nor feel hate for the Santee. He wondered if something was wrong with him. But mostly he was worried about Uriah,. Nash wanted to ease his father's pain, but he didn't know how. Uriah had kept the secret since he was a boy, feeling it gnaw at his gut. And now Nash was worrying that same question with as little success. He was still deep in thought when he heard, “Boy! Boy!”

In his reverie Nash had wandered into the old Indian's camp. It was not a place he wanted to be. He understood now why Uriah avoided Indians, and now he felt that same aversion.

“Boy!”

Nash tried to ignore the summons, but he couldn't. “Yes?”

“Come here, boy.”

“I've got work to do. I can't be dallying around here.”

“When you have finished your work, come here. Bring some meat and I will tell you a story.”

“I think I've had stories enough for today.”

“Come then. Bring the meat, and I will listen to your story.”

Nash was sorely tempted. He wanted to talk to someone, but not somebody close. He needed to share those terrible secrets with a stranger, because he could never share them with a friend.

“Maybe I'll be back,” Nash said, and walked on toward the corral. Before he reached the shelter of the pine grove where the horses were kept, Nash swung down to the creek and kicked a hole in the ice where it had been broken repeatedly during the men's stay at the camp. The horses drank long at the water, and Nash finally had to pull them away. The cold sucked the moisture out of all living things. It was a paradox that in the winter, with snow everywhere, more precipitation lying on the ground than most Montanans would see in a month of summer, the body craved water and food. Hunger was putting a rumble deep down in Nash's body.