Wulf's Tracks Read online

  “Well, we’ve got all kinds of law out here today,” a female voice called out. “Button up your flap, Powell, before you freeze it all off.” Then the woman laughed and tossed her thick curly hair back as she stood in the doorway. Dressed in men’s pants and yellow suspenders, she wore men’s red underwear for a top that was unbuttoned enough to show her deep cleavage. A real attractive woman who stood close to five-ten. It was her tough voice that jarred Herschel after looking at her. He assumed this was Kate Devero.

  “Come on in. There’s just Powell and me here.”

  “Where in the hell did they come from?” Powell asked with a toss of his head, going past her.

  “How should I know?” She looked peeved at him.

  They all came inside and unbuttoned their coats to stand around her potbellied stove.

  “Well, this ain’t a Powell visit. What do you want?” she asked, standing shoulder to shoulder with them while Powell mumbled about his bad luck over being caught and got dressed.

  “The McCafferty clan,” Herschel said. “When were they here and where did they go?”

  She nodded like she’d expected his question. “I told that old bastard they’d track him down.”

  “Calvin?”

  “Yeah, they called him Tally, but his real name was Calvin.”

  “Who called him Tally?”

  “When he rode with the Whitten brothers down in Nebraska. I hadn’t seen him in years. Figured he’d gone straight.” She held out her long hands and rubbed them together in the radiant heat.

  “How much did he make in the robbery that you are after him for?” Her brown eyes were hard as she looked for an answer under the longest dark lashes.

  “Thirty thousand is a low estimate.”

  She stomped her foot and grimaced. “That lying sack of shit. He told me maybe two thousand.”

  Herschel had her talking and he didn’t want her to quit. “Who told him about the gold?”

  “He said he’d heard rumors for years how that old squaw man had a big sack full of gold Spanish coins. Finally ran him down up there. But he told me he’d only got that one buckskin sack. That no-good sumbitch showed me how full it was. He poured about half out on that table over there.”

  “He show you the six trunks that those paint horses carried?”

  “Hell, no.” She looked peeved. “I know now that’s why he made the youngest boy of his sleep with ’em at night.”

  “Where are they going next?”

  “Why, Deadwood, of course. Why not? Hell, now I know why. He could buy the whole gawdamn place out—lock, stock, and barrel.”

  “He say where his place was in Nebraska?”

  “How did you know about Nebraska?” She gave him a dark suspicious frown. “Oh, I told you about him riding with them Whitten brothers. It’s somewhere south of the White River Reservation is all I know.”

  The stove’s heat had begun to sting his face. Somewhere south of the White River Reservation. Somewhere north of Ogallala. That was a vast country.

  He better get back to Sheridan and wire Art. He was still on their trail thanks to a tall brunette with the sharp tongue of a mule skinner and maybe—no, she was as tough as any man.

  They called him Tally when he rode with those highwaymen down there.

  ELEVEN

  WULF waited in the alley outside the café’s rear exit. Dulchy had told him earlier she would be off work at four. Dark clouds rolled overhead, dimming the daylight and turning everything to shades of gray.

  “How are you doing? Dey all said he sold your dog and horse to get even with you.”

  “He sure lied to everyone. Make up and forgive me, he said, too. Dulchy, I have to leave. I stay here, I’ll kill him.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “I have a cousin in Montana who’s a sheriff. I am going up there to see him.”

  She glanced over at him with a concerned look. “Montana. That is very far away.”

  “I know—I won’t hold you to coming up there.”

  Her back straightened and he saw the reaction coming. Hell, he’d said the wrong thing again.

  “I said if you would have me, I would come to join you.”

  “Dulchy. Dulchy, slow down. I would need to work for someone for years—”

  She looked over at him. “I can work, too.”

  Man, was she ever hardheaded.

  “Mr. Matters has given me his Kentucky-bred black horse. I’m going to need to break him in a week. Then I’ll leave for up there.”

  “That horse is an outlaw, isn’t he?”

  “So am I.”

  With a disapproving shake of her head, she reached over and squeezed his arm for a second. “No, you aren’t.”

  “May I come walk you home every day that I can get away from the horse?”

  “No.”

  He wet his lips. What was wrong now?

  “I will walk out there after work and watch you for a while. You will need all the time you have for him.”

  “Thanks, Dulchy. We better hurry. It’s beginning to rain again.”

  At last on her aunt’s front porch, they sat in the swing and held hands. Her gray-haired aunt stuck her head out the front door as if testing the air. “You two come inside. It’s cold and wet out here. I have tea and pastry made.”

  His sodden hat in hand, he nodded.

  “This is Wulf Baker, Aunt Frieda,” Dulchy said, introducing him.

  “I am pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

  “So am I. You can call me Frieda, too.” The woman’s bright smile warmed him to the core.

  After the tea and rich pastry, he swung by to see Matters, who answered the door. “Wulf, you’re back?”

  “Yes, sir. I have a request. Don’t feed or water the black horse anymore, and may I use your round pen to train him?”

  “Use anything I have here, son. Anything. We sure won’t feed or water him another drop.”

  “Thanks. I won’t hurt him, but I want him to know where his food and water come from.”

  “I thoroughly understand. Come inside. That wind’s turning colder.”

  “No, sir, I have to get back to Andy’s. I’ll try not to bother you with my training.”

  “I’m going to love to watch.”

  “Some days might not be nice. Good night.”

  After supper, Wulf made some forked-stick bean flips. It was like a slingshot, except at close range much more accurate. He made several, while Myrna sewed him a pouch like a nail apron.

  “And all this is going to do what?” Andy asked.

  “Teach him to come to me.”

  Andy, seated across the table, examined one of the shooters. “Might make some girl in school jump if you hit her hard enough in the rump.”

  “Andy.” His wife gave him a disapproving frown.

  “You’ve seen that black horse, Myrna He’s a handful and tough.”

  “But didn’t David slay the giant with a slingshot in the Bible?” Wulf asked.

  “Killed him.”

  “I won’t kill him, but he’ll learn when I say, ‘Here,’ to put his head on my chest.”

  Andy sat back. “Wulf, I am not doubting this process. I just have to see it.”

  “Come by tomorrow in the afternoon. Mr. Matters has let me use his round pen to train him in.”

  “Well, bronc buster, don’t get hurt is all I can say. You about through sewing, Myrna?”

  “Yes, I have it made. There’s your pouch.” She put it on the table and smiled at Wulf. “I may come along, too, Andy.”

  Chewing on his lower lip, Wulf wondered if he had overloaded himself. It might take days to teach this crazy horse anything, or even longer. He blew out the light and went to bed.

  Dawn was creeping through the clouds when he walked inside Matters’s stable. The black horse was circling in the stall. Blowing fire out of his nostrils and snorting at Wulf’s smell and presence. Wulf spoke softly to him and went to set the gates so his new horse could escape t
o the round pen with its high wall. Anytime a horse like this one thinks he can escape you, he will take that open route.

  When everything was set, Wulf opened the reinforced stall door. Kentucky leaped out in to the aisle and saw the daylight. He tore out for the round pen. When he was galloping in circles inside the ring, Wulf managed to close the high gate and get to the center of the pen armed with a buggy whip.

  A horse would run all day in a circle pen because he thinks that by running, he is getting away from a person. Wulf knew this from Sam Bellows, who showed him many things about breaking a horse. Lots of cowboy bronc busters scoffed at Bellows’s ways, but they never owned a horse they’d trained and could ride without a bridle.

  Wulf used the crack of the small whip to keep the big horse running. Turning with him, he watched the powerful muscles of this animal as he barely exerted himself. Kentucky had more strength than any horse he’d examined up close. If he could harness this horse’s power into a usable form, he’d have one of the fastest horses in the country.

  Then he took out the bean flip, drew back, and sent the bean hard into the running Kentucky’s tender flank. “Here,” he said.

  The gelding responded by kicking both hind heels over his back and loping faster. Again and again, Wulf shot his beans at the horse’s flank and said, “Here.” Kentucky began to flinch at each strike, and found that kicking at his own belly did not help. In a short while, breathing hard, he stopped and started for Wulf. Dancing back and forth on his hind legs and pumping his head, he acted like he wanted to find the source. Then, with a defiant scream, he whirled and resumed his running around the wall.

  Good. Wulf smiled. You aren’t stupid. You know I am the source. “Here.” He struck him again with a bean. Kentucky began to weary of the game and punishment, but Wulf made him keep running with the small whip. The horse’s side toward Wulf was jerking each time Wulf said, “Here.”

  Two more stops and takeoffs and then, looking frustrated, he planted all four hooves and came forward cautiously. Wulf slipped him a cube of sugar, all the time talking softly as he put on the halter with care. Watching the horse’s ears and eyes for the first sign of rebellion, he rubbed him carefully. All this big horse had to do was have a fit, and Wulf could be crippled for life. But Wulf never let that fear materialize in his mind, and hence his body didn’t secrete any smells or signals for his horse to realize. Animals can sense it and they use that to their advantage. With the words of Sam in his ears, he stepped back.

  “Now run free.”

  Shaking his head in the halter, Kentucky trotted off and, coaxed by the action of the whip, began to run again. Armed with his slingshot, Wulf said, “Here.” Kentucky, head high and tossing the halter around, never stopped. Wulf reloaded and hit him again.

  Stopped dead on his heels, Kentucky whirled and came to put his head on Wulf’s chest.

  “It’s lunchtime, Wulf. My wife wants you to come and eat dinner with us,” Matters said from a place high on the wall. “That is unbelievable.”

  “I’ll need to put him back in the stall. I’m coming in a minute.”

  With the gates set, and using his arms to herd the horse, Wulf got Kentucky back to his stall, and he closed the gate. At his water pail, Kentucky started pawing as if that would fill it. Wulf smiled to himself. The horse had to learn that, too. He had not earned that reward yet.

  While he washed up on the porch, Mrs. Matters came out to greet him. “Ule told me you are doing so well with him.”

  “Thanks, ma’am. It was a good half day—so far.”

  “Do be careful. He’s hurt people.”

  Drying his hands, he agreed with her. Most were probably hurt because the horse panicked rather than because of the horse’s overall madness. After her wonderful meal of fried chicken, he thanked them both and resumed his lesson in the round pen until at the word “Here,” Kentucky came in submission to put his head against Wulf’s chest.

  At last, when Kentucky was tired enough to stand hipshot, he permitted Wulf to rub him all over. With caution, of course, Wulf worked his hands all around. Watching Kentucky’s ears for any sudden change in his disposition, he kept talking softly. By mid-afternoon, he was leading him on the run, and the horse acted like he enjoyed it.

  Then Matters’s Mexican handyman, Paulo, set a bucket of water inside the gate for Kentucky. The older man looked over at the two, and before closing the gate, he made the sign of the cross for Wulf.

  Wulf only let Kentucky drink half of the pail’s contents. Then, with water streaming off his muzzle, Wulf led him away from the pail. Kentucky danced sideways and acted upset on the lead rope, but he was learning that the way to get water, and later feed, was from this new man. Even the hay he would eat had to come from Wulf’s hands.

  Letting him stand, Wulf took a break. Matters stood above the high wall and asked, “What’s tomorrow’s lesson?”

  “I’ll need a large tarp to lay him on. I’ll borrow Andy’s, and we’ll lay him on his side and trim his hooves and make him feel helpless. Then, when I let him up, he’ll know I have that much control over him.”

  “Can you lead him back to the stall?”

  “We’ll see.” Wulf smiled at him.

  “Get up here, young lady. I think the show is over for today,” Matters said.

  Wulf knew who he was talking to—Dulchy. She had come.

  “How did it go?” she asked.

  “We have a small understanding,” he said.

  “He’s beautiful,” she said, sounding impressed.

  Wulf used his hand to shade his eyes from the sun. “He’ll be prettier when I can ride him.”

  “You’ll do that”

  “Wait. I’ll walk you home. I’ve done all I can do here today.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Matters said, and left them.

  “Stay up there until he’s in his stall. I don’t trust him.”

  “Sure.”

  “Here,” Wulf commanded, and Kentucky raised his head and spun around to walk over to him. With soft words, he coaxed the big horse until his head was against Wulf’s chest. He rewarded him with a sugar cube. Then he turned and opened the gate. This would be a test. Never look back. That was one of Sam’s rules. If Kentucky followed him, he’d won a great battle. If not, he’d have to start over in the morning.

  The horse nickered and he knew that he was behind him. In the barn, Kentucky even used his nose to push Wulf faster. Impatient as Wulf knew Kentucky was, that did not shock him, and he kept talking in a low voice. Kentucky went into his stall, and Wulf gave him a bucket of water that he held so the horse would know he was the source. Then he went out and took an armful of hay and put it in the manger, petting Kentucky as he crunched on it and pawed with his front hoof.

  “You’re impatient, I know,” he said, and satisfied they were bonding, he closed the stall door.

  “He will make a wonderful horse for you.”

  Wulf couldn’t contain himself a minute longer with Dulchy standing before him in the barn aisle. He gathered her in his arms and kissed her. Then they fell in and walked across town to her aunt’s house, making small talk about her day and his.

  “How long will it take you to get to Montana?” she asked, going through the yard gate.

  “Weeks, maybe months. I’ve never been there before. I don’t know what’s up there.”

  “I will be patient then, though it will be hard.”

  “I agree—it will be hard. How long have you been in America?” he asked.

  “Two years. My parents and I sailed from Ijmuiden, Holland, for New York. They both died at sea.”

  “Aw, Dulchy, I’m sorry.”

  She clutched his arm as they went up the porch steps. “We were going to farm here because my father’s sister, my aunt, was here. My father had great plans. He was a hard worker.”

  They went and sat on the porch swing.

  Wulf began, “I lost my father a year ago. It was best. He suffered a lot at the end. My mother
and I ran the ranch until she married Kent Hughes.”

  “He is the one—”

  “You two come inside,” her aunt said from the doorway, and rubbed her sleeves. “I have hot tea and some pastry. It’s getting cold out here.”

  “Coming,” Wulf said, not wanting to miss out on her great pastry. “Yes, Dulchy, he’s the one sold my horse and dog.”

  Her aunt was, as always, cheerful and her pastry mouth-watering. He even liked her English tea. After a short while, he excused himself and went back to Andy’s.

  Myrna had to know how the horse training went before Andy came in. From the look on his face when he entered the kitchen, Wulf knew he was upset.

  “Did Matters give you a bill of sale for that horse?”

  “No, why?”

  “Hughes was boasting today in the Adobe Walls that that horse would now be his horse also since you are a minor.”

  “I’ll go tell Mr. Matters to keep the ownership.” Andy shook his head in disappointment. “For your sake, I think it would be best. Hughes has sold one of your horses already.”

  “I’ll be back, Myrna. You go ahead and eat.” Wulf slapped on his hat and his canvas coat and headed for the Matters place in the growing darkness. The wind out of the north had caused the temperature to drop.

  Matters’s wife answered the door. “Something wrong?”

  “I hope not, but I better speak to your husband.”

  After he explained his plight, Matters nodded. “He’s my horse and you’re training him for me.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “No, Hughes is the one that’s sorry. Keep on. Ride away on him when you’re through.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The Dutch girl is very pretty,” Matters said, showing him to the door.

  “Yes, Dulchy is a very nice person.”

  “She’d make a good partner.”

  “Maybe it will happen someday.”

  “It will if it is intended. I’ll straighten Hughes out on the horse.”

  Walking back to Andy’s, he thought hard about what Matters had said. If it is intended.

  TWELVE