Red Wolf



  Red Wolf

  By Gene Denham

  Copyright 2013 Gene Denham

  Cover Image : “Vector tattoo style wolf” by Illia Balla

  https://www.123rf.com/

  License Notes

  New Mexico Territory, 1879

  His soul screamed in agony as he awoke with a jolt. He fought the urge to give voice to his fear. Wyatt forced the sound down into his stomach, helping to ease the nausea. He focused on his breathing and gradually brought it under control. Rising from the sweat soaked mattress, he walked to the mirror.

  Wyatt Greene stood in front of his reflection. As he stared into his own hollow eyes he wondered if the dream would ever go away. Probably not. It had been almost a year since that hellish day. Since that time he had relived it every night.

  When he closed his eyes, he could still smell her. He could see his sweet, beautiful Maggie twirling a lock of brown hair and hear her giggle. How happy he had been with her. The joy that the swelling of her belly had brought to both of them. The abrupt horror that ended it.

  It had been four months since that rainy morning, but Wyatt could recall every detail as though it was yesterday. The warm falling water had brought him to consciousness. He had awoken with his mind in a fog. He was naked, outside by the woodpile, and covered with scratches, bruises and blood. There was more blood than could be accounted for by his injuries. Wyatt stood up and surveyed his surroundings. Where was Maggie? Maggie! He jumped up and raced to the house.

  The front door was wide open. A sickly sweet smell emanated from within. Wyatt tried to steel his nerves as he stepped over the threshold. The walls were splattered with a dark substance. Blood. The table lay on its side. One chair was shattered, others were thrown about the room. Dark stains covered the floor.

  “Maggie?” No answer.

  He cautiously approached the table. His stomach rebelled when he saw what was on the other side. His vomit splashed to the floor just a few feet from his dead wife. Trembling, he forced himself to look at her. She was sprawled like a rag doll with a scream frozen on her face. Her throat and body cavity were torn open. Chunks of flesh had been ripped from her limbs. Their unborn child had been ripped from her womb and now lay beside Maggie. Strength fled from Wyatt’s body, followed by sanity.

  The local doctor concluded that the wounds on Maggie and the baby were canine bites. This and the muddy paw prints on the floor led the sheriff to declare that the Green household had been attacked by a pack of wild wolves.

  No trace of the animals were ever found. Then there were more attacks. Wyatt's father came to see him one morning. The elder Greene was shocked to find his son covered in blood. Wyatt proclaimed his innocence as his father assaulted him with questions and accusations. Questions that Wyatt couldn't answer as once again he had no recollection of the previous night. So he ran.

  Four months had since passed.

  Wyatt opened his eyes. He took the pitcher and poured water into the basin. He opened the containing his mixture of ash and boot polish, and carefully used it to color his red hair and beard. After washing his hands in the basin, he put on the eye patch. He practiced his limp before opening the door and walking to the front room.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Jones,” said the boarding house proprietor. “Supper will be ready in a couple of hours.”

  Afternoon? He glanced at the grandfather clock. Three-thirty. How could he have slept so late? Wyatt wondered if the nightmare was starting again.

  *****

  Samuel broke his gaze from the town in front of them and turned to his two companions. He gave a nod of encouragement to his son, Jesse. Then he moved his focus to Wilson, Maggie's father. “He's here.”

  Wilson's frown did nothing to hide his skepticism. “How can you be sure?”

  “Because I know him better than anyone. He's here.”

  “If you knew him so well we wouldn't be hunting him.”

  Samuel Greene ignored the insult. He couldn't blame Wilson for being bitter. He would probably feel the same way if Maggie had been his daughter. Maggie's mother had died in childbirth. They had been the only family Wilson had in this world. “What does the almanac say?”

  Jesse reached into his saddlebag for the book. He opened it and found the information before answering his father. “Full moon tonight.”

  Samuel nodded. “Then we need to find him before he kills. This ends tonight. Are you ready for this?”

  “I think so, Pa,” answered Jesse.

  “Just remember he's not your brother anymore. Wyatt's dead. This thing killed your brother and Maggie. Do not hesitate. Do not think. Just shoot.”

  Wilson snorted. “You just remember to do the same. Shoot. Don't think.”

  “I know what I need to do,” responded Samuel. “Actually it would be best if we didn't do this in town.”

  “Having second thoughts?” asked Wilson.

  “No. I just see no reason to cause trouble with the local law. We should take him prisoner. Bring him out to the middle of the prairie. Then kill him.”

  “And if he resists?”

  “Then we do what we must.” Samuel sat silent for a moment. “Alright, here's the plan. Use the rifles. Bring him down. Save the pistols until you're standing over him. We only have a few of these fancy bullets. No sense wasting them.”

  “Pa,” began Jesse. “Are you sure they will work?”

  “You heard what the Tonkawa medicine man said. He told us they would work. I for one believe him. Besides, if the old man was wrong, it don't matter none. They will kill a man. So whether your brother is still Wyatt or whether he's this creature, they should kill him.”

  Samuel didn't wait for a response. He ended the conversation by nudging his mare forward.

  *****

  Neither the chili nor the cornbread satisfied him. Even as he finished his second helping he could feel the hunger building. Pain began growing in his bones. He started to feel the pulse in his head. He knew it would grow and expand into a crescendo. Then would come the fear and hopelessness as the world collapsed and reality was overtaken by blackness. Wyatt looked up at the silver haired lady who was their host. “Mrs. O’Donnell, that was a fine meal. Thank you.” He forced a weak smile. “But I am afraid that my arthritis is acting up. So would you be so kind as to excuse me?”

  The woman gave him a genuinely sympathetic smile. “Of course, Mr. Jones. Would you like me to fetch the doctor for you?”

  “Thank you for your kindness, truly, but no. I just need to rest.”

  “Of course, dear. I hope you feel better soon.”

  “Thank you, ma'am.”

  Wyatt walked to his room and locked the door. Pain pulsed through him. Then suddenly there was a calm. In that storm's eye he became aware of something. He wasn't sure which surprised him more. The knowledge that they were here or the fact that he knew with such certainty.

  They were here. They would find him unless he escaped. He went to the window and unlatched it. Once it was up, he climbed outside. He turned to close the window. That's when the pain returned. It slammed down on him driving him to the ground. His vision became a rapidly shrinking circle. Then consciousness was gone.

  *****

  Alternating squares of crimson and ebony topped with like-colored discs captured the focus of the two men. Few words were exchanged as they maneuvered their pieces, both hoping for victory. It was this way most nights. And that’s the way they liked it. Nice and calm. Things got rowdy every now and then. But that was mostly on the nights the cattle drives came through.

  Their game was interrupted when three strangers came into the office. Marshal Campbell threw back a shot of whisk
ey as he studied the men. One was young, barely a man. The other two were older. Their faces told him that these were not hard men. But their eyes conveyed that they had seen things and were intent on seeing more. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

  One of the older men pulled out a piece of paper. He unfolded it and handed it to Campbell. “We're looking for this man. Thought maybe you had seen him.”

  Campbell studied the wanted poster. Wyatt Greene. Wanted for murder. Two hundred-fifty dollars. He looked at the picture of the clean shaven face and then back at the man who handed it to him. Campbell noted that there was a resemblance.

  “Sorry, I didn't catch your name.”

  “Samuel Smith.”

  “Well, Mr. Smith, I am Marshall Campbell and this is my deputy, Jefferson. You men bounty hunters?”

  “Yes.”

  Campbell gave the poster to his deputy. His raised eyebrow was answered by a shaking head. “Sorry, haven't seen him. If we do come across him, who should I wire?”

  “Marshall's office in Lawton, Oklahoma.”

  “You men riding through or staying the night?”

  “We thought we'd get a hotel room. Maybe quench our thirst in a saloon.”

  “I don't want no trouble in my town. Understand? You run across this man, you get me or my deputy. You do not kill him unless you're forced to defend yourselves. Do we have an understanding?”

  “The reward is only good if he's breathing. So we have no desire to bring him down unless he gives us cause. You won't have trouble from us. I give you my word.”

  “I expect you to honor that.” Campbell handed the paper back.

  As Samuel put the poster back in his pocket, he asked, “Any chance you've seen a large red dog? Greene's been known to travel with one and he sometimes lets it run free.”

  “Big red dog? Only red dogs I've ever seen were fox. They're tiny.”

  “True. But this mutt's big. Like a hunting dog. Or a wolf.”

  “I'll keep my eyes open.”

  “Thank you much.”

  Campbell watched the trio leave. Something wasn't adding up. Motion caught his attention. He smiled as he watched his deputy return the bottle of whiskey to the desk drawer. Jefferson had come to the same conclusion as he had. The calm would be broken tonight.

  *****

  The bartender shook his head. “Sorry, Ben. You know the rules. No credit. If you want a beer, it'll cost you a nickel.” Ben started to protest, but the bartender ignored it. “Besides, I think you've had enough. Why don't you just go home to Clara and get some sleep?”

  “C'mon. I'm good for it.”

  “No. Remember last time? Your bed has to be more comfortable than that jail bunk.”

  “I reckon it is.”

  “And I reckon you should go on then.”

  “Alright, dag nab it! Hmmph.”

  Ben stumbled outside. He started walking home and realized he was heading in the wrong direction. He turned to his right. He would just go down a block and turn again. As he made the second turn he was surprised to see a large dog. No, it wasn't a dog. It was a wolf. A red wolf.

  The animal stared at him. Its eyes narrowed and its lips pulled back into a snarl. Ben felt his heart pounding as adrenaline started to force sobriety. His mouth went dry making it difficult to swallow. He tried to turn and run, but his feet wouldn't budge. Ben fought to scream but only silence emerged. He finally managed a cry of fear as the wolf leapt for his throat.

  *****

  Even though it was his father's idea to split up, Jesse disagreed with it. Supposedly it was to make it easier to find Wyatt. And to corner him, catch him in a crossfire. It made sense, but he still didn't like it. He wasn't even sure his brother was here. He knew his pa believed it to be true. But believing something didn't make it so.

  Jesse's thoughts were interrupted by a scream. Suddenly his Henry rifle doubled in weight. The temperature of his blood dropped causing him to shiver. He turned in the direction of the scream.

  He saw Wilson running. Jesse watched as the elder man stopped, shouldered his weapon, and fired. Wilson followed the report with a second, before running again and disappearing down a side street to the left.

  It took all his willpower and strength to get his legs to move. Jesse ran to his left down another side street. He knew he was faster than Maggie's father. He prayed he was faster than the beast they hunted. As he entered the main street he turned to his right. He saw his father take aim and fire. And he saw the wolf.

  It was coming at him. Fast. This can't be happening, he thought. His sanity was struggling to remain in control. Jesse knew his father was shouting but couldn't make out the sound. He saw Wilson emerge from the side street. The old man was yelling and frantically waving his arm. Now Jesse understood. Wilson and Samuel both were telling him to move so they could shoot the creature without the risk of hitting him.

  Jesse glanced down. The wolf was lunging into the air. Jesse's muscles moved on their own. His arms shot up, bringing the rifle in front of him. The chest of the animal slammed into the weapon. Jesse lost his balance and fell backward from the impact. The wolf seemed to be stunned momentarily. Jesse tried to smash its skull with the butt of his rifle. The wolf's head jerked out of the way. Then it came back. Jesse cried in pain as teeth sunk into his arm.

  Little explosions of fur and blood erupted on the wolf. It released its grip and tried to run. More bullets slammed into it. The creature stopped as Campbell and Jefferson appeared in front of it and raised their weapons. Puffs of white smoke were followed by howls of pain as lead entered the animal. The wolf started toward a building, hoping to run underneath. A round shattered its hind leg sending it sprawling into the dirt.

  Samuel and Wilson rushed to the animal. Their right hands left the rifles and moved toward their waists. The wolf tried to crawl but the men were standing above it now. They opened up with their revolvers. Silver pierced the creature and one of them found the heart.

  Samuel only fired three rounds as the other man emptied his weapon. By the time it was over, Campbell and Jefferson were beside them. The marshal opened his mouth to speak, but froze as the impossible happened. The hair of the wolf retreated beneath the skin. The bones and flesh morphed. Within seconds the transformation was complete. The wolf was gone, having been replaced with the corpse of Wyatt Greene.

  Samuel walked over to his other son. Jesse slowly got to his feet clutching his right arm. Water filled Samuel's eyes.

  “You're bit,” said Samuel.

  “It ain't bad. We can wrap it.”

  “Won't matter.”

  “What?” Then the realization dawned. “No. No, Pa. No!”

  “Got no choice, Jesse. You've done been bit.”

  “Please, Pa. No.”

  Samuel raised his pistol. He took aim at his son's chest. “I'm sorry, Son I love you.”

  ###

  Connect with Gene Denham Online:

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/genedenham

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/denhamgene#!/denhamgene

  My website: https://denhamgene.wix.com/home