Wolf Shadow’s Promise (4 page)

Strong in body, lean and tall, he could only have been described as brave and courageous, fighting under such poor odds. Yet, he did not cease his activity until he had managed to ruin every schooner full of cargo. Then, suddenly and with seeming ease, the man faded from sight, though the wolf remained behind, high up on one of the wagons, silhouetted against the moon, howling, as though it would guard the man's departure.

Bullets fired, missed.

And then nothing.

The wolf had gone, as had the man.

Amazing. Alys pinched herself. Had it been real?

Curses, all in English, rang through the air, a few more stray bullets followed, voices off in the distance ordering
others to pursue the man. But what trail had he left? No one seemed to be looking, not even the few Indian scouts…all had turned their attention to the liquid contents of the bull train, now seeping into the dry ground.

Gradually, the men moved off. But not so Alys. She couldn't budge, feeling as immovable as a statue.

Spellbound, she could barely breathe; even then, she had to remind herself to do so. She'd never seen anything like it. Why did the man fight so determinedly? What purpose did it serve?

She forced herself to come alive, to move closer, slowing her pace to a stop as the whiff of something strong and acidic hit her nostrils. What was it? The stench of whiskey?

She took a few more steps, telling herself that it could not be.

Again…she sniffed the air. There was no mistaking it.

Surely the fort, the merchants, and the military were not involved in whiskey trading, were they? Not with the new laws. It was too fantastic.

It was a well-known fact that the Indians could not tolerate liquor, that fights ensued after a binge of drinking. Something terrible always happened, and the Indians themselves, when sober, grieved over what they had done. Alys had grown up listening to the tales of the fights and the deaths that had occurred because of the Indians' use of alcohol and the traders' insistence on selling it to them.

But the government had clamped down on all that. Or so she had been led to believe.

Stunned, Alys went from wagon to wagon, examining each shipment, a certain nausea beginning to build within her. Was the military aware of this? They must be. It would be impossible to miss an odor such as this. Yet if they were, why wasn't something being done?

She would find Lieutenant Warrington, she decided with
sudden vigor. And she would discover the truth, if she could. Lifting her head, she picked up the hem of her dress intending to move away, when she noticed something peculiar and dark on the bottom of her skirts. It wasn't simply the usual dirt from the street. What was it?

She bent down and removed her gloves, running her finger over the hem. It was some sort of sticky substance…she lifted her hand high against the moonlight. Mud? She sniffed it. No, not mud. Blood—fresh, red blood.

Whose? The soldiers'? Not unless a bullet had found the wrong target. The Wolf Shadow had fired almost no shots.

That meant it could only be…

Alys examined the ground.

A fresh pool of blood. How the soldiers and hired scouts had missed this she didn't know.

Alys glanced around her, barely breathing. She moved over the bloody mess until her skirts completely covered it, then she shuffled her feet in the dirt.

“Miss Clayton, what are you doing out here?”

Startled, Alys glanced up, only to find Lieutenant Warrington staring down at her. Had he seen her and what she had found? She didn't know why, but some instinct told her to hide her discovery. Pushing her glove into her hand and hiding it behind her back, she forced herself to smile brightly as she explained, “I wanted to see the Wolf Shadow for myself.”

“For yourself? You, a woman?” he snorted. “My dear, this is much too dangerous a place for a lady.” His voice became softer, though his tone continued to patronize. “You shouldn't be here.”

Alys lifted her chin. “Why not?”

“Because,” he glared at her as though she were a naughty child. “Because you are a woman. And being female, you are too weak, and unarmed. And because—”

“Lieutenant Warrington, I have just discovered something that I think you should know.”

“Have you?” he asked, his manner condescending. “And what would that be, m'dear?”

The “my dear” grated on her nerves. However, she held her peace, asking only, “Did you know that the merchants in this town are sending whiskey to the Indians?”

The lieutenant had the grace to look sheepish. “Miss Clayton, I don't believe you know what you're saying.”

“Don't I? Have you lost your sense of smell, Lieutenant? Here, stand still for a moment. The stench is unforgettable.”

“There is a tavern around the corner. Perhaps what you smell is—”

“I know what I see right here, dripping from this wagon, from that one, too.” She pointed.

The lieutenant took her arm. “You see nothing, Miss Clayton. Nothing at all. Now come, I will escort you home. You should forget about all this.”

Alys did not budge; she couldn't, not without uncovering a trail of evidence. She snapped her arm away from the lieutenant. “Lieutenant Warrington, don't you understand? The merchants are trading whiskey to the Indians.”

Lieutenant Warrington gave her a blank stare.

“But then, I guess you probably know that, don't you?” The lieutenant made another reach for her, which Alys deftly avoided. “If you please, I think I'll find my own way home, thank you.”

“Miss Clayton, really, you are making too much of this. Liquor, in modest quantities, has always been traded to the Indians. It is nothing new.”

“But I thought the government had forbidden—”

“Forbidden? And what do you know of the laws?”

“I don't know them as well as you, I am sure. But I do know enough to realize that this shipment is illegal.”

“Illegal? I think not, Miss Clayton. If the merchants were doing something criminal, the military would act on it at once. Trading a little liquor is hardly illegal.”

Alys's head reeled slightly. Hadn't she recently heard of new liquor laws when she had been back east? “But I thought that the government had…I thought the military was here to protect both the Indians and the settlers.”

“And we are. We do. I can see that you don't understand.”

“No, I don't. How can you protect the Indians when you allow the merchants to sell liquor to them? It's well known that liquor disrupts their culture.”

“Miss Clayton…Alys, the Indians have no culture and I have little enough time to stand here and educate you on the business of the military. Especially when I would rather be discussing other, more pleasant things.”

“Oh?” She tried to keep herself from physically recoiling.

“Yes,” he suddenly grinned at her, “like the way the moonlight makes your brown hair shimmer, makes your dark eyes sparkle.”

Alys felt her body go rigid under the compliment. While only a short while ago she might have delighted in hearing this man declare such devotion, right now such waxed enthusiasm sent shivers of revulsion running along her nerve endings.

She squared her shoulders. “Please, Lieutenant, we leave the point, which is the sale of liquor.”

“Yes, but that's not so bad, is it?” Again, he grinned at her. “To leave the point?”

Alys took a deep breath. “I hope you don't mind if I speak my mind.”

He shrugged. “By all means, do.”

Alys nodded. “It seems to me, Lieutenant, that if the merchants are trading illegal liquor to the Indians, then this
Wolf Shadow is within the boundaries of the law in what he is doing and should be praised by the military, not shot at.”

The lieutenant's stance became decidedly tense. He cleared his throat. “I can see that pleasantries with you will get me nowhere. You seem to be stuck on this one subject. Very well. Now, Miss Clayton…Alys, need I remind you that it is the Indians who are making the west rough and uncivilized? They raid, steal horses, kill women and children. Now, as I see it, my job here is to protect the townspeople from any such Indian attacks. And this, tonight, was an Indian attack.”

“Upon merchandise?” she countered, her temper rising. “I hardly think so. From my position here, I didn't even see the man fire but a few shots. And as far as the raiding and stealing, aren't you forgetting the recent Baker massacre? Wasn't it the military who was doing the killing of Indian women and children then?”

The lieutenant shook his head. “What have they been teaching you back east? Leave it to those soft city folk to get the thing all wrong. Now, I think you are mistaken, Miss Clayton. That Baker raid was against warriors, that is all.”

“Yes,” she said, “so I heard. The warriors had left some old men and boys in that camp of women and children, while they were out on a buffalo hunt, isn't that right?”

The lieutenant's body stiffened, his hands clenched at his side, and for a moment, he looked as though he might like to strike her. At length, however, he volunteered, “I won't argue this with you any further, Miss Clayton.” His words were clipped. “I can see that either your mother or the good people of the east have tainted your outlook upon the honest citizens of this town.”

She pulled a face. “Somehow, I'm not convinced.”

“Convinced? Of what?”

“Of that so-called honesty.”

He
tsked, tsked
. “Come now, Miss Clayton. You should have more faith. You clearly don't understand the politics of the west and, truth to tell, I don't have the time to enlighten you. At least not now.”

“No,” she agreed, “you're right. Now, Lieutenant, if you will excuse me.” She made to step around him, hoping to capture his attention, distracting his gaze from the ground and what she was certain was a trail.

He didn't watch her, however. Someone had called to him, demanding his attention, and he had already turned away from her.

Alys breathed a sigh of relief and, quickly scanning the area around her, stepped out of the light and away from the blood. She calmed slightly. She had managed to cover up the evidence fairly well.

But if there had been a pool of blood here, it made sense that there would also be a trail to follow. No wounded man would be able to keep from making one.

Trying to look as demure as possible, Alys studied the ground. She knew something about following trails, thanks to her rather unorthodox upbringing.

Luckily the tracks seemed to lead in the same direction as her home, and Alys, kicking dirt over the imprints as she went, began to follow the bloody signs, hopefully not looking too obvious in doing so.

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Warrington, having settled his business as well as he was able, came back to where he had left Alys, only to find her gone. He scanned the area in all directions, but to no avail.

He could go after her, he supposed, discover where she had gone. But he wouldn't. At least not tonight.

“Damn easterners,” he murmured aloud. “They've tainted her.”

And with nothing more to be said on the matter, the lieutenant trotted off in the direction of the tavern.

 

It was still early evening. The excitement in town had died down, the main talk of those around her, as she passed by them, being that of the ruined shipment and not of the man who had upset it. No one seemed to take much interest in her either, if they even saw her, and she relaxed. It appeared she would be allowed to complete her task without interference.

Despite her misgivings, she followed the trail left by this ephemeral creature, this Wolf Shadow, as it wound behind the fort's military barracks. Through dark alleyways, she continued to follow the trail even when it seemed the markings had almost disappeared. And whenever she found traces of the man's passage, of his blood, she covered it with dirt and straightened any nearby grass, that no one else might find it. On and on she tracked, toward the back of the fort—toward her own home.

“My home?” she mumbled under her breath.

Taken slightly aback, she kept on, the trail taking her directly to…her house. Could it be that the man had scaled the adobe bastion and the walls that stood at her backyard?

It would seem doubtful that a single man could accomplish such a feat, and yet, the tracks wound toward her house. She followed those imprints, barely able to believe it when they led right to her own cellar…

Alys glanced around her, mystified.

No one knew about the secrets of her cellar. Only her mother and herself…plus, she reminded herself, one small Indian boy and girl from so long ago…an Indian boy who would now be a man.

Alys shook herself, as though that action might clear her mind. Was it possible that this Wolf Shadow might be the
boy she had once helped? Not likely. That lad, if he were wise, would have long since put as much distance as possible between himself and the fort.

Still, the thought that this Wolf Shadow might be the youth she had once known caused her heart to skip a beat.

Unwittingly, she touched her cheek.

“And now a part of you is a part of me.”

She had never forgotten. Nor had she easily put aside her childish infatuation. She could even now call back to mind the image of the young Indian as he had been, his tanned body strong and lean, his dark eyes warm with kindness and respect for her.

She stood still, momentarily lost in her own thoughts. At length, she shook herself.

What utter foolishness. She had long ago put away her schoolgirl crushes, had grown up and dismissed such things as nothing more than childish dreams. Although without realizing that she did it, she even now fingered the outline of the necklace she always wore, there beneath her bodice—a single shell, suspended from a bleached white buckskin chain.

Becoming suddenly aware of what she was doing, she drew her hands to her sides and determinedly stared back toward the ground, concentrating and looking more closely for the trail. Ah, sure enough, there it was…heading directly to her cellar.