This appears in a pre-2010 issue of Down in the Dirt magazine.
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By 1907, most of the wolves had been slaughtered by both hunters and cattle ranchers; their carcasses either left for the buzzards and bears, or skinned so their fur could be used for rugs or trophies over the mantle, and in some cases for coat collars and glove liners. They were shot, poisoned and trapped without mercy. And the savagery extended as far as the little pups that were often thrown into fires for the sheer sport of it. It wasn’t only for the preservation of cattle and sheep, but it was to bring closure; to assuage man’s fear of the wolf that was thought of as a heinous killer and the stalker of children. It was all a myth of course, for there wasn’t a solitary case of a wolf ever attacking a human. Unfortunately, man’s fear was never controlled by reports and statistics.
But there was one wolf who managed to beat the odds along with his mate and five pups. The local ranchers had dubbed him the “Black Devil.” Tyler Varney knew of him well, for he had been killing cattle on his father’s ranch for the past three months. The Black Devil was as black as midnight, as black as a lump of coal, as black as the hearts of his father and uncle. He weighed in the neighborhood of two-hundred and fifty pounds, stood fifty inches at the shoulder and measured a good seven and a half feet from the tip of his snout to the end of his tail, and was rumored to be able to run in the excess of sixty miles an hour. Tyler surmised that most of these so-called facts were due to a fair amount of exaggeration and myth-building. After all, if you lined a dozen men up and whispered “ten pounds” in the first man’s ear, by the time it reached the other end of the line that ten pounds would have turned into a hundred. Whatever the case, the Black Devil was - in fact - much larger, stronger and faster than the average wolf.
Clyde Varney had lost at least twenty-three head of cattle to the Devil and his mate by the summer of 1907. He and his brother, Cletus, had hunted the two marauders for days on end, never once getting as much as a glimpse of them. It was like hunting for two needles in a stack of hay, or to be more accurate - twenty square miles of hay stacks. But they knew they’d been watched by the feeling a man gets when the hairs prickle at the nape of his neck, and more so by the uneasy snorting and fidgeting of their horses. They had brought dogs on the first hunting trip, only to have two of them killed and a third seriously mauled when they had taken up the scent and disappeared into the distance. One of the dead had been Rex, Clyde’s favorite. If anybody had a score to settle with the Black Devil it was indeed the Varney brothers.
Finally, Clyde had decided to kill one of his old steers, leaving its carcass out in the north pasture, its belly slit open and laced with strychnine. The practice had been used by many of the ranchers to a satisfying effect. Tyler had decried its cruelty, but Clyde, never one to tolerate weakness from his son, had taken off his belt and beaten the boy without mercy, inflicting a good number of bruises and welts.
Both Clyde and Cletus were vicious men who instilled fear in their families, friends and neighbors alike, and took a great deal pleasure in doing so. There were times when Tyler had harbored wishes that the Devil would pay a visit and haul his father far off into the woods to tear his mangy body asunder. It would spare everyone, especially his wife and children, so much grief and torment. But men like Clyde and Cletus had the tendency to live to be a hundred, inflicting as much pain and suffering as humanly possible. The Lord indeed worked in mysterious ways.
The brothers, along with a reluctant Tyler, rode out to the north pasture early on a morning in mid-July to see if there had been any favorable results with their strychnine ploy. The Devil was as cunning as he was big, and Tyler hoped that he had somehow detected the poison and steered his family away from the area. His biggest concern was the pups. Just the thought of them dying so horribly brought the burning-warmth of tears to his eyes and he was forced to look away so his father wouldn’t see. Such a transgression would certainly merit a beating with either belt or fist or toe of boot. Sometimes there would be a combination of all three. After all, the Varney men were super-humans who never, ever displayed the least sign of emotion. God in heaven; the slightest show of weakness would have certainly played hell with their fearsome reputations.
Even at the early hour the air was sultry, portending another scorcher of a day. A fireball of a sun was eager to make its appearance, painting the horizon with shades of pink, rose and golden-red. To the west, the Sawtooth Range was nearly lost in a purplish haze, its highest peaks covered with a stubborn snow. A half dozen deer grazing nearby, perked up their heads at the trio’s approach, bounding off to the sanctuary of the nearest woods, followed closely by a pair of spooked rabbits. Tyler watched as a hawk swooped from the slowly brightening sky to buzz the pasture, flying off with a squirming rodent clutched in its talons. But for all of the country’s beauty, the boy knew that there was the possibility of a great deal of ugliness ahead.
As they neared the carcass of the steer, it was evident that a number of animals had been at work. Its entrails were hanging out and scattered in bits and pieces along the blood-smeared grass. The heat had also been busy, creating a terrible stench that caused Tyler to gag and cover his nose and mouth with a bandanna. Of course his father and uncle seemed unbothered by the smell, looking as if they could breathe it in and savor it as they would a woman’s perfume.
They followed the track of some of the steer’s gore and soon came across the body of one of the pups. It was frozen in the midst of a contortion, its mouth pulled back to expose its teeth, as so often was the case of an animal who had suffered a painful death. The pup’s muzzle was still bloodied from its feast.
Clyde turned his large bulk in the saddle, smiling at his brother with satisfaction. “Well, there’s the first of the little buggers. Good riddance.”
“Yup,” answered Cletus with his own gap-toothed smile. “The poison works mighty fast on the pups . Their systems aren’t fully developed yet.”
And little further along they found another one and a short distance more, a third. The brothers were overcome with joy, but Tyler could barely hide his revulsion. It was cruel, darn right cruel, but his father and uncle enjoyed cruelty like pigs enjoyed wallowing in a mud hole.
Clyde eyed his son, noting that he looked uneasy. “Do you have a problem with this, boy?”
No, sir, I don’t. I’m just fine.”
“Well, you don’t appear to be. Damn, I swear you take after your mother’s side of the family - all of a hundred-percent.”
“They’re not so bad.”
“They’re a bunch of frigging sissies. They wouldn’t last a day in this neck of the woods.”
Cletus grunted - his usual reaction to humor. “Shit, they wouldn’t last an hour. A half hour tops.”
They rode along for perhaps a mile, not seeing the other two pups. Most likely they had crawled into some underbrush or a hollow to die. After another mile, they hit pay dirt. There, a few hundred feet away, was the mother, yelping and whining and thrashing about in her agony. Nearby, was the Black Devil himself, walking in worried circles around his mate, muzzling and pawing her in a vain attempt to ease her suffering. When he spotted the arrivals, his ears stood erect and he displayed his incisors, fur bristling and back arching. Even at a distance, they could hear the deep snarl building and rumbling deep within his chest. A chill shot the course of Tyler’s spine.
“There he is!” shouted Clyde, pulling his .351 Winchester from its scabbard. “That black bastard is mine!”
The Devil backed up, took a quick sniff of his nearly dead mate and started to run off, only to have a change of heart. He guiltily returned and stood by her side, releasing the longest and most continuous growl that Tyler had ever heard. Clyde’s first shot kicked up some dirt at the wolf’s side and the second was much farther off mark.
Cletus snickered. “Dang, Clyde; you should be able to hit a chipmunk at this distance.” The snicker turned into an outright laugh as he reached for his own Winchester. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
Realizing that the odds were against him, the Devil muzzled his mate one last time and started off at a dead run, leaping over a fallen tree and crashing through the brush. Clyde and Cletus started shooting as fast as they could chamber rounds, bullets chipping the bark off trees all around the fleeing wolf.
Cletus cursed, spitting out a glob of tobacco juice. “Damn-it-all, we blew it, big time!”
Tyler turned away, struggling to contain a smile.
“We’ll get him soon enough. Don’t worry about it.” Clyde rode his horse up to the whining female, watching as she weakly flipped over, her muzzle covered with foam. “This one is done for.”
Tyler pulled his .22 rifle from its scabbard, chambering a round. “I’ll finish her off.”
“No, let her suffer to the very end.”
“Jeez, Pa; show a little mercy,” Tyler snapped, taking aim.
Clyde’s backhand sent the boy flying out of the saddle, the hard landing knocking the air from his lungs.
“You had better start listening to me, boy, before I really loose my temper. And if you remember well, you certainly don’t want that to happen.”
Cletus watched for a few moments then reined his horse around, heading for the woods. “You two can beef it out, but I’m going after that damn wolf. I’m going to finish it once and for all.”
“Not now, Cletus.”
“What do you mean ‘not now’? I’m not going to wait until the cows come home. And if that wolf’s not killed, the cows won’t be coming home.”
“I’m not going with you. I’ve got to take this kid home and teach him a lesson. Maybe teach his mother some tough love too, while I’m at it.”
“Whatever you say!” called Cletus, as he wound his way amongst the trees. “But you won’t be sharing the credit with me.”
The phone bells sounded the next morning as Tyler moped over his breakfast and Clyde was haranguing his wife over what he called “shitty” pancakes. Beatrice snatched the receiver off its hook, exchanged a few words with the caller and motioned her husband over.
Clyde placed the receiver to his ear and snapped “yeah?” into the phone’s mouthpiece. He listened for a few moments, brows furrowing, before hanging up. Then he started to pace, picking up his coffee cup and draining it.
“There’s a problem over at Cletus’s, huh?”
“Yeah, Beatrice; there sure seems to be. The sheriff wouldn’t tell me what it was. He just wanted me to get over there as fast as I could.” Clyde continued to pace, grabbing his Stetson off a wall hook. “I called Cletus three times yesterday, but Agnes said that he hadn’t returned home. Christ, I wish I didn’t let him go after that wolf by himself.” Clyde paced faster, cracking each of his knuckles in turn. “Okay, Tyler, let’s go.”
“What do I have to go for?”
Clyde walloped his son alongside the head. “Because I said so, that’s why. Move it!”
They saddled up and rode at a breakneck speed to Cletus’s home, three miles away. When they arrived, they saw Sheriff Crowley’s Pierce Arrow parked next to a dozen tethered horses. The sheriff and a number of neighbors were gathered near the front porch of the house. As they dismounted, Crowley broke from away from the group and met them, dressed in a snap-brim cap and white linen duster, a pair of goggles dangling from around his neck. The sheriff owned the first automobile in a fifty mile radius and he was damned proud of the fact.
“What’s going on, Crowley? Damn, what did you do; alert the whole county?”
“We’ve got a big problem, here, Clyde, and we’re going to need the manpower.”
“Did - Did something happen to my brother?”
Crowley hung his head, wishing that he wouldn’t have to supply an answer.
“Tell me, for Christ-sake!” Clyde shouted, shaking the sheriff by his shoulders. “Did something happen to Cletus?”
Crowley headed back toward the porch, motioning for Clyde to follow. As they approached, the men split to make them a path. They all looked somber and more than a bit nervous. Lying on the top stair of the porch was what appeared to be a large piece of liver. Next to it was a bloody wallet.
Clyde could only stare, squinting in wonderment. “What in the hell is that?”
“It’s - It’s a heart.”
“From what kind of animal?” Clyde mounted the bottom stair, bending over to make a closer examination. “A deer, maybe.”
“It’s a human heart. A human heart marked with canine teeth.” Crowley rested a consoling hand on Clyde’s shoulder. “And right there alongside, where Agnes found it, is Cletus’s wallet.”
Clyde whirled, his eyes growing as big as saucers, noticing that Tyler was rushing toward some bushes with vomit spewing from his mouth. Clyde tried to speak, but nothing came out. When he tried again, his incredulous voice sounded hoarse and raspy.
“What - What in the blue blazes are you trying to tell me, sheriff? You’re saying that the Black Devil tore out my brother’s heart and carried it, along with his wallet, down here to this porch?”
Crawford looked up to the heavens, wishing that it wasn’t true; that there was a saner, more rational explanation. “As crazy as it may seem, that’s exactly what I’m saying. The wolf brought the heart here. And he brought the wallet along to identify whose heart it was.”
Clyde spun in a complete circle and ran his fingers through his hair, knocking his Stetson off in the process. He looked at the faces around him then off to the bushes where Tyler was still on his hands and knees. Damn sissy kid! What the hell is everybody going to think? A Varney, upchucking!
“That’s the craziest, most far-fetched thing I ever heard, Tom!” Clyde shouted, his nose nearly touching that of the sheriff.
“Like I said; there are teeth marks on the heart. Also on the wallet. And this Black Devil is smart, right? Smarter, by far, than any other wolf we’ve ever seen.”
Clyde let out a long, weary breath. “Where’s Agnes?”
“She’s in the house in a state of shock. Some of the neighborhood women are seeing to her.”
“Cletus was my only brother. Six frigging sisters, one brother! Damn it; I shouldn’t have let him go up there alone!”
“What’s done is done, Clyde. There’s fifteen of us all together. Everybody has a rifle. I suggest that we split into groups and try to nail this wolf before it kills someone else.”
“It’s not going to kill anyone else. He’s after just me and Cletus.” Clyde sighed, correcting himself. “He’s just after me.”
“Why do you suppose that is?”
“Cletus and I laced a dead steer with strychnine. It killed the Black Devil’s mate and their five pups.”
“Well, there’s no law against strychnine, unless you use it on another person.”
Clyde thought that Tyler would be a good start. What a spineless little shit he had for a son.
“Okay, everybody; let’s mount up!” shouted Crawford, as he walked to get a rifle from his Pierce Arrow. “I’ll take one of Cletus’s horses. Someone saddle a likely one up for me.”
Clyde rushed over and grabbed Tyler by the collar of his shirt, hauling him to his feet.
“I’m sick, Pa. I – I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“You gutless little turd. I’ll teach you to be a man ‘fore this day is over, even if it kills you. Now get into the saddle. We’re going to hunt this murdering wolf down once and for all. We should have done it yesterday morning with your uncle Cletus.”
The men split into groups and headed in different directions. There was a lot of ground to cover and very little time in which to do it. Clyde refused Crawford’s company, selecting Tyler as his sole hunting mate. If the kid didn’t shape up, he would leave him horseless in the woods to hoof it home on his own. He had that prickle at the back of his neck again, warning him that even as they left the ranch, the Black Devil was keeping them under surveillance from afar. He was the wolf’s next target and although he hated to admit it, his hands and legs were shaking beyond his control.
They entered the woods, its thick canopy of leaves turning day into dusk. It was eerily quiet excepting for the occasional scuttle of a rabbit or a squirrel. Neither of them talked; each buried deep in his own thoughts. Clyde mourned his brother the best way he could, by cursing to himself and slamming the pommel of his saddle over and over again. Tyler wasn’t mourning his uncle in the least. He had gotten what he deserved, pure and simple. He’d give anything to take a pee on the old buzzard’s grave. If his father was next, so be it. He and his brother, Homer, could run the ranch well enough without him.
They had traveled perhaps two miles when Clyde reined in his horse, straining to hear a repetition of a sound he had heard in the distance. Easing his Winchester from his scabbard, he cocked a round into the chamber, holding the weapon at the ready. His eyes darted to the right then to the left then warily over his shoulder. The hairs on the nape of his neck were standing on end and saluting. The Black Devil was near; nearer than he would ever want him to be.
Tyler bit his lower lip so hard he nearly drew blood. “What, did you hear something?”
“Shut up and get your rifle out.” Clyde flashed his son a thoroughly disgusted look. “Not that it’s going to make a bit of difference.”
“If you don’t want me here, just say so.”
“Oh, I want you here, all right. I want to show you how a true Varney handles himself.”
You’re a bigger wolf than the Black Devil, thought Tyler; a mangy, old, remorseless wolf. But your pack thinned out a little with the death of uncle Cletus. Maybe your so-called friends in the other groups will bite the dust and leave you the Lone Wolf.
And, then, there he was; standing atop a small rise with his fangs barred and the fur standing tall on his arched back! Panicked, Clyde took aim with his Winchester, but his horse reared, placing the bullet on a harmless path into the tree tops. The horse reared once again and when Clyde reached to secure the reins, his Winchester fell to the ground. And that’s when the Black Devil made his move, running full tilt straight for him, a thick tendril of saliva dangling from his muzzle.
“Shoot, Tyler! Shoot him for Christ-sake!”
But the boy could only watch, frozen and fascinated, as the black killing machine bore down on his father. Clyde swung his horse around and started off at a gallop, negotiating around trees in a frantic effort to escape. The wolf changed direction, speeding along a rise that paralleled Clyde’s course, jumping over fallen trees and tearing through the briars and the brambles. He mounted a ledge and jumped for Clyde, missing him by the matter of a few inches. Without missing a bit, the animal continued its pursuit, now along a parallel route to Clyde’s right.
Tyler followed at a distance without the slightest clue as to what he would do if the mighty wolf started for him. He thought of turning around and heading in the opposite direction to put as many miles as he could between them. His old man would have to get out of this on his own, the best way that he could. Oh, but it felt so good to see his father riding for his life, fleeing in fear, probably shaking and sweating and praying to the Lord for mercy. He wished he had one of those moving picture cameras. No sound, but maybe he could play the William Tell Overture while watching it.
And then it happened! As his father glanced to his right, he failed to see the branch, the branch that slammed him in the head and swept him from his saddle. Before he could realize or react to what was happening - if he was still conscious at all - the wolf launched itself through the air and landed atop him, its powerful fangs ripping his neck to shreds. He never had enough time to even scream. A small geyser of blood shot up and his father’s body shook spasmodically for a few moments, feet thrashing wildly, before growing still.
Tyler could only watch, his heart pounding a mile a minute. This was it! He would be the wolf’s next victim. Dismounting, he pulled the Winchester from his scabbard and cocked its lever, sending a round into the chamber. And, indeed, the wolf headed for him; slowly, more cautiously, a growl gurgling deep in his throat. Tyler aimed his weapon, but was shaking so badly that its front sight danced crazily around, heading everywhere but where it was supposed to. Then with a cry of exasperation, he flung the weapon aside, deciding to call it quits, to take his medicine like a man. The Devil snapped his attention to the rifle, watching it land in the bushes then returned his gaze to Tyler, tilting his head and releasing a long, high-pitched whine.
“I’m sorry that my father and uncle killed your mate and pups. It was them, not me. I didn’t want anything to do with it, honest.”
A tear trickled down Tyler’s cheek and the wolf took notice, tilting his head further and letting loose with another whine.
“I’m sorry! I really am. I don’t know if wolves can forgive, but I wish you would.”
And in one crazy, unbelievable moment, Tyler thought that the wolf actually understood. The animal trotted a few steps forward, paused, and took another few steps. Then he passed so closely by that Tyler could have reached out and stroked his fur. And on the wolf trotted until it broke into a run, disappearing into the dark confines of the forest.
And that’s when Tyler dropped to the ground and started to release a week’s worth, a month’s worth, a year’s worth, a lifetime’s worth of tears. There was no one to yell at him or degrade him now; no one to beat him with a belt or a fist. He was only half aware of Crawford and two other riders approaching from the south. He didn’t pay any attention to them as they dismounted and stared in horror at the bloody body of his father. He didn’t even care as Crawford placed a consoling hand on his shoulder and helped him to his feet.
And still he cried.
