Page 74 of The Spirit of the Wolf

“Does ya now?” grunted the beast. “In that case thar’s fifty pelts here. Thar’s right. Fifty.”

LaPrenier eyed the trapper warily, and fearing the man lied, the proprietor commenced to rapidly sort through the merchandise, counting each fur covertly.

As he had thought, there were only thirty-eight pelts. Mentally deducting the difference, he said, “I can give ye one dollar a fur.”

The brute snarled unpleasantly. “If’n I take ’em upriver, they’ll give me four.”

LaPrenier shrugged. “That is all I can give ye. Wolf pelts not in high demand—not like beaver.”

The beast grumbled but said nothing.

Still of a mind for pleasantries, LaPrenier asked, “Will ye be wanting anything from the store, monsieur? We have good assortment of hunting knives, traps, whiskey.”

“Whiskey, coffee, flour, sugar, tobacco,” said the beast. “Them things I need fer my outfit. But give me whiskey first.”

LaPrenier nodded, and turning, reached for a bottle of spirits. “That’s five dollar a pint.”

“Make ‘hat two bottles of whiskey, and keep it comin’.”

Again LaPrenier turned to do the brute’s bidding, but fearing the man—especially under the influence of drink—LaPrenier laced the brew with laudanum. It wasn’t long before the beast fell to the floor, sprawled out like a giant bear. But the creature was not so unconscious that what manner of liquid could not be kept down soon came up.

“Mr. Acme,” cried LaPrenier to his partner, who had kept to the back of the store during this exchange. “Come, help me roll this beastie to the water. Mayhap after a bath, we may be able to tolerate his stench. Come, help…”

Mr. Acme, braver now that the beast lay asleep, hurried forward to do his duty.

Chapter

Fifteen

“Husband…heap…good scout.”

Marietta gave Grey Coyote an affectionate glance, as well as a warm smile, even though he wasn’t at the moment gazing at her. So deeply was he involved in setting up their camp, he took little notice of the two women.

All night the three of them had set their wits against the warriors. By keeping to an irregular path, crawling through bushes and shrubs, and constantly paying attention to erasing their trail from the land, they managed to still be alive.

At last—it was early morning—it appeared as if the enemy had given up, and the three escapees had stopped to set up camp, each enjoying a good bath and scrub.

A narrow coulee would be their home for the day, providing them with shelter as well as a few amenities. Nearby ran a shallow stream that played host to a solitary live cottonwood tree. Several dead tree stumps were scattered over the ground, looking as though they had been lifted up by their roots and thrown about the earth, perhaps in some long-ago battle between God and the elements.

Sundry thorny shrubs and bushes grew close to the water, as well as short bunches of green grass. The walls of the coulee were lined with sandstone, and many of the rocks heaped up next to the stream were of this same sandstone. It was near these boulders that Grey Coyote worked, and Marietta could tell he was taking pains to set up their temporary dwelling so it would fade into the environment, becoming invisible to all but those who knew it was there.

After a while, Marietta said, “You are right, my friend. Grey Coyote is a good scout, isn’t he?”

Yellow Swan held her right hand up, forefinger up. Twisting her hand slightly, she brought her finger down in a flash—Indian sign language for yes. “Him embarrass enemy…warriors all.”

“Yes,” agreed Marietta. “And he’s teaching me a little about scouting too.”

“Humph!” replied Yellow Swan. “Wolf Clan…secret…hmmm…club. Him risk…much…telling you…”

“Does he really? He dares the wrath of his own people by showing me how to scout?”

“Clan of…scout…secret…even to own…tribe. Many not…know who…are. If warriors know…how scout…track…scout not…safe. Them keep…all secret.”

“How very interesting. I didn’t know this.”

Yellow Swan nodded.

It was still early in the morning, and as yet the sun hadn’t appeared on the horizon. Still, in the east, the sky was starting to come alive in shades of silver grey and navy blue. Not a cloud marred the heavens, and in Marietta’s opinion, it was looking to be a beautiful day.