mastiffâs head. Then he just walked out, and nobody ever saw him again.
âCharley was screaming for a rifle too. He had wrapped his shirt around his arm and pretty much stopped the bleeding.
âI was kind of sorry to see that wolf get killed, but I knew in the end that it would be the kindest thing. Charley told me during the fight that he had bet all his poke from the summerâs bounty hunting on the dog. He figured with that wolf starved down, it wouldnât have a chance. Charley was mean even when he was feeling good, and he sure wasnât feeling good after he lost his money.
âAnyway, somebody handed him a rifle, and I expected it to end right there. I should have known better, knowing Charley like I did. He grabs the rifle and turns to the crowd. âIâll kill the first man to touch that wolf,â he says. There was no doubt he meant it, either. He was crazy as Iâve ever seen him, with his eyes kind of glazed. He was out of control, carried along by his craziness like a leaf in a storm.
âAnd then he says, âIâm going to kill that son of a bitch myself, and itâs going to take a long time in the doing. Heâs going to pay for losing my grubstake. Heâs going to hurt the way my arm hurts now.â
âCharley talked a couple cowboys there into slipping a loop around the wolfâs neck and heels, to get him back in the cage. But when Charley saw him stretched out and helpless, he jumped down in the ring with a cattle prod. He started laying it on that wolf like he was the source of all the worldâs woes, big, deep thumps each time he hit him. Finally one of the cowboys said if Charley hit the wolf again, heâd let his end of the rope go. That quieted Charley right down. Even in the shape he was, that wolf would have cut Charley to pieces if he could have reached him.
âThey got the wolf loaded back on the wagon. He was really in tough shape then. I figured the wagon ride would kill him. Charley had beat him up so bad, on top of no water or food. Charley borrowed a couple bucks from me and had Doc Borlund sew up his arm. He came out of Docâs office cussing about paying two dollars for fifteen minutesâ work. Then he set off.
âWell, gents, I didnât see him for the next couple days. I still had a little business to take care of in town. Her name was Millie, if I remember right,â Flynn said with a grin.
A trickle of nervous laughter pattered through the crowd, like the first drops of a summer rain storm that moves on before it gets started.
âI was on my way out to the ranch. It had cooled off all of a sudden, and there was a touch of snow on the peaks. I figured I better get back in case we had a storm coming. But on the way, I got to thinking about Charley and the wolf. I wondered if Charley had killed him yet. The more I thought about it, the more it stuck in my craw. I didnât fancy the idea of leaving that poor, dumb animal to suffer, so I decided to ride past Charleyâs. If the wolf was still in the cage, Iâd put a bullet in it myself.
âWell, I rode up to Charleyâs dugout, and right away I knew there was something wrong. The door was standing open and there was no smoke coming out of the chimney. Either one would have been all right, but both together spelled trouble, just as sure as if there was a sign on the door. I thought maybe the bite had gotten infected, and he was too sick to take care of himself. But as I walked up to the cabin, I could see olâ Charleyâs tracks in the skiff of snow from the night before.
âThere was one set came out of the cabin nice and easy, like Charley had stepped out the front door for his morningâs trip to the outhouse. But then there was another set of tracks going back into the house at a run, and another set hoofing it outside again. So I started to follow those tracks. Well, right away, I saw what was wrong.â¦â
Flynn
âCharley was screaming for a rifle too. He had wrapped his shirt around his arm and pretty much stopped the bleeding.
âI was kind of sorry to see that wolf get killed, but I knew in the end that it would be the kindest thing. Charley told me during the fight that he had bet all his poke from the summerâs bounty hunting on the dog. He figured with that wolf starved down, it wouldnât have a chance. Charley was mean even when he was feeling good, and he sure wasnât feeling good after he lost his money.
âAnyway, somebody handed him a rifle, and I expected it to end right there. I should have known better, knowing Charley like I did. He grabs the rifle and turns to the crowd. âIâll kill the first man to touch that wolf,â he says. There was no doubt he meant it, either. He was crazy as Iâve ever seen him, with his eyes kind of glazed. He was out of control, carried along by his craziness like a leaf in a storm.
âAnd then he says, âIâm going to kill that son of a bitch myself, and itâs going to take a long time in the doing. Heâs going to pay for losing my grubstake. Heâs going to hurt the way my arm hurts now.â
âCharley talked a couple cowboys there into slipping a loop around the wolfâs neck and heels, to get him back in the cage. But when Charley saw him stretched out and helpless, he jumped down in the ring with a cattle prod. He started laying it on that wolf like he was the source of all the worldâs woes, big, deep thumps each time he hit him. Finally one of the cowboys said if Charley hit the wolf again, heâd let his end of the rope go. That quieted Charley right down. Even in the shape he was, that wolf would have cut Charley to pieces if he could have reached him.
âThey got the wolf loaded back on the wagon. He was really in tough shape then. I figured the wagon ride would kill him. Charley had beat him up so bad, on top of no water or food. Charley borrowed a couple bucks from me and had Doc Borlund sew up his arm. He came out of Docâs office cussing about paying two dollars for fifteen minutesâ work. Then he set off.
âWell, gents, I didnât see him for the next couple days. I still had a little business to take care of in town. Her name was Millie, if I remember right,â Flynn said with a grin.
A trickle of nervous laughter pattered through the crowd, like the first drops of a summer rain storm that moves on before it gets started.
âI was on my way out to the ranch. It had cooled off all of a sudden, and there was a touch of snow on the peaks. I figured I better get back in case we had a storm coming. But on the way, I got to thinking about Charley and the wolf. I wondered if Charley had killed him yet. The more I thought about it, the more it stuck in my craw. I didnât fancy the idea of leaving that poor, dumb animal to suffer, so I decided to ride past Charleyâs. If the wolf was still in the cage, Iâd put a bullet in it myself.
âWell, I rode up to Charleyâs dugout, and right away I knew there was something wrong. The door was standing open and there was no smoke coming out of the chimney. Either one would have been all right, but both together spelled trouble, just as sure as if there was a sign on the door. I thought maybe the bite had gotten infected, and he was too sick to take care of himself. But as I walked up to the cabin, I could see olâ Charleyâs tracks in the skiff of snow from the night before.
âThere was one set came out of the cabin nice and easy, like Charley had stepped out the front door for his morningâs trip to the outhouse. But then there was another set of tracks going back into the house at a run, and another set hoofing it outside again. So I started to follow those tracks. Well, right away, I saw what was wrong.â¦â
Flynn
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