The Discovery

Nightfall comes quickly in the frozen northland. I had mere minutes to spare before the land would be engulfed in a blanket of pitch darkness. Using the stock of my rifle and my gloved hands, I dug into the snow, making a small pit. I quickly gathered some dead willow sticks and branches to use as kindling. Removing a piece of rifle wadding from my patchbox, I used the flint from my rifle and a bit of gunpowder to ignite the cloth. Within a few minutes a small fire glowed brightly before me.

There was enough room in the pit for me to lie down in front of the fire. In moments, I drifted off to a light and troubled sleep. Dreams of an elusive and evil wolf startled me awake at least three times. As the twilight of morning began to appear, I could hear a strange sound. Moaning--as though someone--or something were in great pain. My mind weaved in and out of my dream state. For reasons unknown to me, I saw a beautiful lady walking toward me. Her hand reached out to me and I began to reach my hand toward hers. Just as we were about to touch, I bolted upright from sleep, startled and breathing heavily.

A dream--yet it seemed so real. The fire had been reduced to a few glowing limbs. I put on more sticks and branches and in a few moments, flames of warmth began to rise. It was then I heard the sound again. Faint moaning in the distance. What could it be? I brought my rifle to full cock and quickly surveyed the area around me. Then I heard it again. It sounded, almost, human! Who could possibly be out here?

I heard what sounded like the dragging of moccasins across the packed snow. Indians? What would Indians be doing out here in the middle of January? Tightening my grip on the rifle, ready for a fight if necessary, I waited. Suddenly, over the ridge appeared the form of an Indian woman! She walked toward me, her eyes looking past me, as though she didn’t know I was there. Her shredded clothing hung loosely upon her. Her lips were cracked and dry. I could see bruises upon her face and she dragged her right leg as though it were injured. Staggering up to the fire, she fell--face first into the snow--completely unconscious.

For a moment, I thought she was dead. As I moved closer, I could see she was still breathing. I gently pulled her closer to the fire and removed my buffalo coat to place over her. The bruises upon her face had been put there with a fist. Of that there could be no doubt. I gently unlaced her right moccasin and discovered a purple mass of swollen flesh on her ankle. It was amazing she could walk at all. She had been ill used by someone of a cruel nature. That was certain. I stayed there with her, looking after her as she slept. It may have been the first sleep she had had in days. Despite her injuries, I could tell that she was quite beautiful. It would be difficult to convince her upon her awakening, that I meant her no harm.

After four hours, the eyes of the Indian woman began to flutter as though she were about to awaken. I had taken the liberty of fastening a splint to her ankle to keep it from moving and hopefully to speed the healing. Her eyes popped open with a disoriented and confused look. She looked at me for just a moment and then tried to arise and run from me. Her ankle would not support her effort and she fell. I quickly began to make signs to her that I was not an enemy and would do her no harm. As she lay there, half sitting and half lying down, not sure what to make of me, I offered her some of the jerked meat I had with me.

Slowly and warily she looked me over for the better part of a minute. Then she took the meat from my hand and ate it voraciously. Apparently, she had not eaten in days.

I continued to make signs to her, trying to convince her that I was a friend. After a long while had passed, she began to sign back to me. She was trying to tell me what had happened to her but I wasn’t getting it all and had to stop her many times in my attempt to understand. Obviously frustrated by our inability to communicate, she would stop from time to time and just sit. Several minutes later, she would try again. After nearly an hour of this, I began to understand--somewhat.

I had mistakenly thought her to be a member of the Sioux tribe. She was in fact, not. As near as I could tell, her village had been raided by the Sioux and she was taken captive and forced into a sort of servitude. I had heard fur traders mention the Mandan villages that were further to the west of the land which I inhabited. I could only assume that she might be one of them. According to the trappers, the Mandan were a friendly people that lived in permanent earthen dwellings, raising corn and other crops.

I tried to explain to her that I had a small house several miles from where we were. I couldn’t tell if she understood or not but I did believe that I had gained a degree of her trust. She was not fit to travel on foot with her swollen ankle, so I cut willow branches from the thicket and made a sort of travois. I set her upon it and began to pull her over the snow toward my house.

Pulling the extra weight made for slow traveling and nightfall once again came upon us before I could reach my house. I made camp as before--digging into the snow and building a fire. Fuel was not abundant in this area. I found a few shrubs to burn but no firewood. After three hours, there was nothing left to burn. The Indian woman motioned to me to burn the travois. I reluctantly complied and the fire burned a bit longer. We burrowed deeper into the snow to keep from freezing after the fire went out.

Rising the next morning at twilight, I removed my buffalo coat and sat the Indian woman upon it. Grabbing the sleeves in my hands, I began to drag her across the snow toward my house. Though the air was frigid, I perspired under my clothing. Occasionally, I looked back at my passenger and smiled. I could tell that the bond of trust was growing between us. She began to look upon me as a friend.

The Return

Anger of a type I had never known burned hot within me. I felt as though I were teetering upon the brink of madness. My tormentor had returned and robbed me once again of all my food. The brutal winds of January blew bitter and hard round about me. Occasional pockets of loose snow were hurled into the air and stung my eyes like tiny shards of glass.

The moment had now arrived.

I would enter into battle with this beast--or die in the trying. The remainder of the jerked meat would last possibly three days. After that, I would be completely destitute of food. I could melt snow for drinking water. Inside my house, I dressed myself in the warmest clothing I had--layer upon layer.

I gave most of my attention to my weapons. The musket would not be useful on this quest. My rifle was the only weapon with the range and capability to achieve my goal of destroying this dog of hell’s creation. I placed all of the rifle balls I had left into my leather ammunition pouch--fifteen in all. I filled my powder horn to the fullest and re-supplied the rifle’s patchbox with wadding. Pulling a warm yet very unfashionable beaver hat upon my head, I took rifle in hand, placed my knife in its sheath, and strode out the door.

It was in that most chilling of winters, January, 1816, that I, Thomas McBane, set out to bring an end to the day of the wolf--or perhaps--my own demise awaited me. Either way, I would not return to my house unless my task was complete.

The end of December brought warm winds from the west that began to melt the upper layer of snow. When the freezing winds of the north came upon the land in January, it re-froze the snow making a hard crust. I was able to walk upon the snow without breaking through. This enabled me to cover large areas with relative ease.

As I walked, I began to question God. I wondered aloud why He would allow such misfortune to befall me. I searched for the possible rationale behind my suffering. I could find none. There were times that I found it difficult to believe that God could even be concerned about one such as I. A man--alone on the prairie--a fool reaping a fool’s reward. When I first arrived, I was certain that the hand of providence had guided me to this land. Now, I was certain of nothing.

I looked behind me as I walked every few steps. If the wolf were to my rear it would not escape my attention. I moved slowly, studying the snow and the terrain for any sign. Discovering tracks, I studied them carefully. Obviously not fresh, I thought them to be about a week old. They were most definitely the tracks of the wolf. I had come to know his tracks as well as the contours of my own flesh.

Convinced that the wolf was as yet unaware of my presence, I believed these tracks might lead me to his lair. I began to follow them feeling as though the upper hand belonged to me. Prey had become predator.

The grip on my rifle tightened as my lips began to crack in the cold. I tried to stagger my breathing as the cold air made my lungs ache. The sun shone through a partly cloudy sky. Sparse willow thickets jutted out from the snow covered rolling hills. I crossed a frozen stream that lay before a bluff. Looking up, I thought I saw movement upon the ridge. Taking cover, I dashed behind a cluster of willows, hoping the branches would conceal me from sight.

I fixed my eyes upon that ridge and waited. Two hours passed without a sign of movement. Somehow I knew within myself that if I waited, here, I would finally get a look at the wolf that I now believed to be half ghost. Another hour passed. To my left, a gopher ran about on the snow searching for food. Since I sat motionless, it seemed unaware of my presence. Running within two feet of me, I twitched my leg. The gopher bounded off in the opposite direction as if it had been scalded.

I continued to scan the ridge for movement. The sun was beginning its descent and the sky glowed a mixture of red and orange. Suddenly, atop the ridge, I could make out the silhouette of a standing wolf. At last! After all this time, I finally had a look at my tormentor! He stood bold upon the ridge--surveying the valley that lay before him.

I watched him for several minutes. Then I slowly raised my rifle for the shot that would terminate my suffering. Resting the barrel of the longrifle on the branch of a willow, I focused my sights on the wolf. Exhaling slowly, I squeezed the trigger of the rifle ever so softly. The report of the gun startled me when it went off. When the smoke from my shot cleared, I could see nothing upon the ridge.

Missed?! How could I have possibly missed? If ever a shot had been well aimed and timed it was this one! I refused to believe that my shot had not hit its mark. I quickly re-loaded my rifle and ran toward the bluff. Making my way around the side of the hill, I found a path that would lead me upward. I bounded toward the top, my feet crashing through the packed snow about every third step. When I reached the ridge, I saw nothing--except tracks. No blood. Apparently I had not even managed to wound the beast.

I had never known despair like this. I sat upon the hard snow and looked at the tracks, unable to believe the wolf was still out there…somewhere.

The next day brought bright sunshine and a clear sky. The barely blowing wind is a rarity in this country. Outside, the air remained frigid to say the least. Nevertheless, it would be a good day to continue the hunt for larger game.

I walked about a mile away from my house, to an area of small rolling hills. Atop one of the hills, I was afforded a great view of the river valley. I would spot any game coming into the area immediately. I burrowed into the snow to keep warm. I also hoped to get a look at my tormentor the wolf. The beast couldn’t stay hidden forever.

After some time had passed, I saw no game large or small. I had a two day supply of food at best. My plight was becoming desperate. A realization came over me that the presence of a wolf in this area would frighten away game such as elk or deer. At that moment, it became even more imperative that I find this devil’s dog and rid the prairie of its cursed existence.

Walking back to my sod house, I took my hatchet in hand and walked to the frozen river. After cutting a hole in the ice, I set a rig over the hole with line and a hook tied to it. Using a small piece of meat as bait, I covered the hole with grass and started back to the soddie to warm up. Twenty yards from the house, in the shallow snow, once again I could see them. Wolf tracks. This beast moves with the elusiveness of a ghost.

Knowing that tracking the wolf would be all but futility, I stepped inside my house and began warming up. I loaded both my musket and rifle, to have them ready when needed. I removed the flint out of each weapon and reshaped them and clamped them back into place. I needed to be certain that the weapons would not misfire when the time came.

I sharpened my knife with great care--slow and deliberate strokes. Nothing would be left to chance in my quest to bring an end to this diabolical beast.