Wolf Creek Read Free Page A

but it was a cold
polite that iced his bones and made him wish he was somewhere
else—anywhere else. "He still riding with the half-breed?"
    "Do you mean Charley Blackfeather? Yes, he
is scouting for the captain. I don't know the ʼbreed personally, of
course, but Captain Dent is high on his ability to track and scout.
It's good we have some who are traitors to their kind, though in
this Blackfeather's case, it can only be said that he is half a
traitor."
    If the major had picked two men more likely
to do him dirty, Wil couldn't name them. Except for the sheriff and
the marshal. Some of the others in Wolf Creek had less than his
best interests at heart, too. But in the field, he depended on the
protection afforded by the captain's troopers. All Dent had to do
was pull that detachment and there might be one dead photographer
entombed in his rolling darkroom.
    He hadn't worked that much to convince Short
Finger his pictures stole away souls. Would Blackfeather believe
that tall tale, too? It gave him hope of getting some leverage on
the scout. A few pictures of enemies as a peace offering might sway
the breed's opinion enough to carry on up to the captain. From all
he had seen, the scout and the cavalry officer were friends. Or at
least they were friendly. That was more than Wil was with any of
the soldiers.
    "How many pictures, Major?"
    "As many as it takes, sir. As many as it
takes."
    Wil should have refused, but given a free
rein to glorify Major Putnam was an opportunity he couldn't pass
up. He had money in his pocket. After this expedition against the
Kiowa and the Cheyenne, he would have pockets bulging with gold
coins.
    ***
    One of his better skills was eavesdropping
without seeming to. Sitting on the drop gate of his rolling
photographic darkroom wagon, Wilson Marsh fiddled with the camera
tripod, a small screwdriver turning back and forth but
accomplishing nothing but allowing Wil to cock his ear so the
powwow with Major Putnam and Captain Dent came through loud and
clear. The major had brought Dent to the lot south of Wil's studio
for some reason. The best he could tell, the captain was supposed
to buy supplies, but the cavalry officer had his scout with him.
That didn't ring true for buying supplies for a company as it did
the two of them wetting their whistles. More than once, Wil had
seen them at Asa Pepper's, heads together and scheming about who
knew what. They had always been wary of him, but out here in the
lot, with their commanding officer not ten feet away from Wil's
tinkering, there wasn't anywhere for them to plot in secret.
    "I received a report from the fort," Putnam
said. He slapped his gloves across his left palm to emphasis how
serious the new information was.
    Dent glanced toward the half-breed scout.
Charley Blackfeather stood with his arms crossed over his broad
chest. Rather than wearing Indian garb, Wil wondered why the scout
wore a cavalry trooper's jacket over a denim shirt. The canvas
trousers might have been taken off a dead prospector. Ever
vigilant, Wil identified a few dirt stains. He doubted Blackfeather
had been panning for gold along Wolf Creek. More likely he had
scooted along in the clay and gotten the white stains on his knees
from spying on the Indians that had Putnam so hot under the collar.
Charley Blackfeather sure as hell wasn't trying to pass as a white
man dressing like one.
    But there was a bigger question gnawing at
him. Wil wondered what went on in the captain's head. Although his
scout showed no emotion, Charley Blackfeather's opinion of the
major was obvious in the way he stood, how his attention wandered
when he ought to have been listening. Wil hastily returned to his
screwdriver when Blackfeather's dark gaze fell on him. All it took
was a single word from the scout to the captain, and Dent would
send him on his way. Wil found himself more excited than ever at
the prospect of what was going to happen and wanted to know all
about it without the major telling him.
    Spying