The White Wolf
by Mitch Hale

Dagger woke up to darkness. He lay perfectly still listening to the cool desert night. What was hot enough to fry an egg on a rock at noon was now chilly enough to make him shiver.

"What happened?" Dagger wondered. Rough rock and sandy dirt was still warm to his touch.

"Where am I?" This was not his teepee with the warm body of Jumping Deer curled up in a Buffalo robe next to him. Or the bar at the Silver Spur Gambling Hall with the lovely Lucy bathing him, scrubbing his back, and making love to him night after night.

He shook his head trying to remember. Then the pain and soreness wracked his body. Memory came crashing in on him.

His job as a guide and Indian translator was a twice a month arrangement and was extremely lucrative. Leading the wagons of guns, whiskey, and horses, for the ruthless Baxter Tate had been going well. They traveled from the Dakota Territories in the summer south to the Mexican border in the Winter. Five thousand dollars a month was a fortune.

Navajo and Apache were a few of the tribes that Baxter supplied with weapons of death. Dagger was an odyssey. A white man that had been raised by the Comanche from the age of four when the war party had killed his family and the wagons that were following the western migration to a better life were attacked. He still had nightmares about the whistling arrows, gun fire, and blood curdling war screams. His white name had been Billy Sampson. When the war party was raping the women and torturing the men that were still alive, Billy hid next to a dead horse by the wagon wheel among tossed clothing and broken furniture. Billy's mother had given him a small dagger and told him to slice his own throat if the Indians over powered them to avoid torture. She would show him and instruct him by slicing a deer's jugular vein before skinning it or whacking the head off the next chicken to be eaten. Billy had the dagger to his throat when a giant brave grabbed his Pa in a arm bar around the neck, cut his throat, then with his hand entwined in Pa's hair cut the skin of the forehead and jerked the hair back in one motion. Pa fell forward and his head bounced off the wagon wheel which shielded Billy from the carnage. Dark eyes that used to smile stared blankly at Billy. Blood spattered the small boy and his skin crawled as the giant warrior, bloody knife in one hand, Pa's hair in the other, let out a war whoop that vibrated terror down to Billy's soul. Billy jumped up charging the Brave, his dagger held out in front of him. The four inch steel blade found Growling Fox's artery in his right inner thigh. Now the Comanche warrior was screaming in terror. The four year old stabbed wildly into the stunned Braves groin, stomach, and inner thigh of the now exposed left leg. Growling Fox dropped the scalp and back handed Billy, sending him sprawling, sobbing, on top of his dead father. Gray Cloud, Comanche Chief, grabbed the boy and led him over to Growling Fox holding the boy's face forcing him to watch the Comanche warrior die from the fast escaping blood from the dagger wounds. Gray Cloud had taken Billy and named him Dagger. He raised him as a Comanche. Later, Billy's Pa's scalp rested with fifteen others on his spear to show the kills made. Gray Cloud acknowledged the young boys coup, taken from Growling Fox, entitling him to the scalp Growling Fox had just taken from Billy's Pa. Gray Cloud raised the boy as a son and a slave and Dagger soon learned the prejudice of being white and having killed an Indian Warrior honored and respected by the tribe. Nightly beatings with switches by the squaws and other native boys made Dagger quick to move and dodge and be aware of his surroundings. Doing the work of a grown man at the age of nine was every day drudgery for the boy. Gray Cloud was merciless in training the small child. Dagger became an expert with a knife learning to skin Fox, Buffalo, Deer, and Bear. Daily lessons with knife shaped sticks, tomahawks, spears, and Mexican Bolos, were a favorite with Gray Cloud. Sparring with Native boys his age or years older, Dagger would return bruised, battered, and bloodied. But before bedtime, Gary Cloud would give Dagger personal lessons each night to correct his mistakes. Years of battle experience were transferred from the great Comanche Chief to the young white boy. Gray Cloud especially loved to show Dagger how to physically surprise an opponent by flipping the knife to the other hand for an ambidextrous grip and stance. A head butt, fist or elbow, to an opponents throat or other vitals organs could give a life saving advantage.

Gray Cloud had presented Dagger a bowie knife as a reward for winning the weapon skills tournament at the age of only fourteen. Dagger learned to fight with a 12 inch Bowie in his right hand and four inch dagger or a tomahawk in his left. Gray Cloud had taught Dagger to throw a knife, tomahawk spear, bolo, or a rock, with deadly accuracy. The young white boy would be sent out alone to hunt small game and wild life and became proficient in huntng and trapping, sometimes bringing back a rabbit or snake alive having stunned it with a thrown stone to the head.

Grey Cloud had transferred the sobbing white four year old into a killing machine at twelve years old. Dagger became an expert with a rifle or a bow and arrow. Dagger would travel everywhere with Gray Cloud. He met and often traded with other tribes and the white man. Dagger absorbed knowledge like a dry wolf skin absorbed water. He learned many Indian languages, sign language, and especially English, the white man's language. Dagger made Gray Cloud a valuable companion sitting stoically listening to the white traders ridicule, berate, and make fun of their Indian counterparts. They thought the Indians could not understand their language. Dagger would relay to Gray Cloud the maximum amount of horses, guns, whiskey, and beads, the white men were willing to trade.

On Dagger's sixteenth summer, Gray Cloud sent him away to the Colorado/ New Mexico Territory by the twin mountains to the west. The Pistolero, John Mendez was a vicious Commanchero killer, one of the fastest gunslingers in the west, whose life Grey Cloud had saved years ago. To repay the favor, Mendez would spend the next year teaching Dagger to use a pistol. The tied down guns were uncomfortable and unfamiliar to Dagger. He hated the daily ritual and endless target practice. Many times missing the target with Mendez laughing his deep laugh at the boy's mistakes, Dagger, in anger, would throw a rock or knife pinning the target to a tree or stable board. Dagger soon learned to love the feel of a pistol in his hand. As the gun became a part of him, Mendez soon realized that this young white warrior was special. Dagger's quickness was amazing as was his proficiency with either hand. Mendez feared that Dagger skills with a pistol were becoming greater than his.

Dagger cooked each night for the Commancheros. During Dagger's childhood, Dagger's mother, Little Doe, would hide him in her tee-pee away from the daily beatings. She would teach him to cook deer, Buffalo, and Rabbit, using plant roots, berries, and later white man's spices to make flavors never tasted before. This talent gained him favor several times.

One night after a Commanchero raid, a drunken gun hand named Hector had approached the fire where Dagger was cooking fresh caught fish applying spices and berries to the speckled trout. The aroma was tantalizing but Dagger soon realized Hector had an appetite for killing tonight, not eating.

"What else can you do Dagger, besides cook? You are Mendez's squaw Do you share his blankets at night, too?" The boisterous Commanchero taunted Dagger.

Dagger sliced a tender piece of fish and offered it to Hector ignoring the insult. The gunman grabbed the sizzling white fish fillet and gobbled it down. Then he punched Dagger in the stomach. Dagger went down to a knee. Hector kicked him in the ribs sending the young brave sprawling. Dagger knew he would die if he didn't defend himself. He circled the bigger attacker preparing for the battle. Hector, was an intimidating figure. with twin bandoliers of ammo across his chest and twin pearl handled colt 45s on his hips.

Hector spat through tobacco stained teeth. "I hate injuns and you're just another stinking Comanche, whether you're red, or white. The only good injun is a dead one."

Hector pulled his knife. "I'm going to cut your guts open and cook them with that fish. Then I'll eat them and laugh. He let out a loud guttural laugh and charged Dagger, knife held low.

Dagger deftly dogged the attack, slicing downward with the razor sharp bowie. He severed Hector's knife hand at the wrist joint separating the knife and wrist from the arm.

Hector, now almost sober, screamed, not immediately from pain but from the sight of his hand laying on the ground still gripping the sharp hunting knife.

Hector, blood squirting from his right wrist stub was three feet away from Dagger. The now one-armed gun man, His eyes showing hatred, went to draw his pistol with his left hand but a pearl handled colt was now in Dagger's left hand.

In a wink, Dagger had drawn Hector's colt from his right holster, placed it at Hector's temple, and before Hector's left colt cleared leather, Dagger pulled the trigger.

Hector's head exploded. The bullet exited his left eye socket.

Dagger holstered the colt. He grabbed the big man's hair, slicing with the Bowie before the giant Comanchero hit the ground.

Dagger let out a Commanche scream holding Hector's scalp above his head. Dagger claimed Hector's weapon and horse with no opposition.

Now the most vicious Comancheros walked a wide path around Dagger.

One night Mendez asked Dagger how he had become so quick with his hands. Dagger explained that Gray Cloud loved snakes thinking they possessed special powers that could be transferred to a warrior through rituals and ceremonies. Gray Cloud would trap rattlesnakes, and would hold them down with a forked stick. He would cut their fangs out and add them to necklaces. Then Gray Cloud would find an enclosed area and release the defanged rattlers pushing the slithering snakes toward a young white boy. Dagger learned to catch the striking rattlers with his bare hands. He would grab them in mid-air or dodge to the right or left to avoid their strikes. He explained to Mendez that was how he acquired his quickness. Gray Cloud loved their primitive challenges which later saved Dagger's life many times just like with Hector's attack.

Mendez looked past Dagger to the spear decorated with eagle and hawk feathers and scalps and beads. The bloody hair and beard of Hector dripped blood hanging from the spear. Mendez shivered rubbing his scalp envisioning his hair hanging by Hectors.

Mendez had taught Dagger the art of gun slinging and how to anticipate when a man was ready to draw. Mendez found Dagger useful in raids much as Dagger's Commanche family had. They stole horses, cattle, women, and anything of value. Their victims included sod busters, ranchers, or anyone that seemed weaker or unprepared. Mendez also taught the young brave how to gamble and dress like a white man when in a saloon or gambling hall. Dagger also learned the most important lessons of being with a woman.

Dagger's biggest weakness was the soft, firm body of a woman, red, black,white or Mexican. Unlike his Indian brothers, Dagger could handle his whiskey but was drawn in the with the sweet, scent of a woman.

Now, at thirty-two years of age, Dagger was a gun for hire. His numerous talent didn't come cheap. He had thousands of dollars stashed away at his Indian camp and at banks in Denver, Dodge City, and Tombstone.

Now, lying in the darkness, Dagger realized he had stayed on too long with his boss, Baxter Tate. He had told Baxter this would be his last job for awhile and they argued.

Baxter warned, "We've got a good thing going here. Don't ruin it by trying to go into business for yourself. You cut me out there will be hell to pay."

Dagger's mind, now clear went back to yesterday when he and Baxter had met with the Navajo war party and began to trade. The usual guns, ammo, whiskey, beads, and spices, were Tate's trade specialties. In return various hides, horses, slaves, and some gold coin stolen from settlers, trappers, or wagon trains, were what the Navajo offered.

Dagger was the interpreter and was handling the negotiations. Baxter did not think that Navajo's had enough value for what he offered.

Rising Moon pulled out a heavy bag of rocks and stones and dropped them in front of Baxter. Dull gold flecks sparkled, reflecting sunlight. Mixed in the rocks were at least five gold nuggets the size of a man's smallest toe.

Dagger saw the greed and gold lust in Baxter Tate's eyes as he instructed Dagger to ask Rising Moon where the rocks came from.

Rising Moon, having drank much of the firewater during the trade, told of a prospecting place high up in the twin mountains. He spoke of two giant trees where rocks shaped like a face looked over the desert and split the stream into the river below. The Navajo's had surprised the prospectors, killing them and taking their guns and horses. The prospectors fought to their last breath protecting the golden rocks.

Part of the trade had been women, six squaws from a Shoshone village they had raided were included. Four were older but two were young maidens. Dagger had talked to the captives. He learned the Navajos had treated them well not wanting to damage or bruise them, making them less valuable to trade. Crying Bird was beautiful in buckskin with long, bronze legs, tall with an angular face, unlike the flat checks, and large noses and big lips, of the normal Shoshone squaws.

Her dark brown eyes glared defiantly at Dagger stating an unheard shout. "No one owns me."

Dagger's gaze lingered long enough to see his reflection in Crying Bird's eyes. Looking back at him was a tall, muscular man, with broad shoulders tapering down into narrow hips and a flat stomach. He was dressed in white man's trousers but wore a buck skin shirt and moccasins.

His black hair was shoulder length and braided. He had a variety of battle scars and was so tan from the desert sun that he looked like an Indian. It was clear that once a woman or an enemy looked into these blue eyes they would see he was of white ancestry.

Baxter Tate, after learning of the location of the prospector's camp ordered his men to kill the Navajos.

Dagger spoke to Rising Moon in his Navajo tongue warning him and his braves.

The battle was quick but fierce.

Seven of Tate's twelve men were killed or badly wounded.

The eight Shoshone braves all lay dead or injured mowed down by the white man's gun fire.

Tate had smashed a gun butt into Dagger's skull knocking him down.

The last thing Dagger remembered was Tate whispering, "I know a little Navajo myself. You warned them. Now you are gonna die slow. The gold will be all mine. I don't have to pay you or seven other men. This has been a very profitable trip."

Dagger watched through a haze as Tate unceremoniously shot in the head all the wounded, Indian or White men, forcing the women to bury the bodies.

Now, Dagger realized he was in a pit or mine shaft of sorts with rock outcroppings serving as a stone prison. Still in darkness, Dagger felt a smooth but rough skin slither under his shirt and curl up on his chest, searching for warmth in the cool morning air. He could feel the large rattlesnake now sharing his body heat, rattlers resting on his belly button. Dagger guessed it was about four a.m. He lay motionless. Gray Cloud had taught him to lie still without moving for hours at a time. Sometimes Gray Cloud would drop ants or spiders on Dagger and other young braves and would beat them if they moved. Dagger's eyes became accustomed to the dark and he could make out at least three other rattlesnakes in the dim moon light. He knew Baxter Tate would kill him at daylight if he found the snakes hadn't done his work for him.

Just moving his eyes, not wanting to disturb his three foot long deadly companion, he surveyed the situation, The walls were only about twelve feet high, just enough where he couldn't get a grip on the wall and climb out. Surprisingly, Tate hadn't tied him or took his clothes. Dagger thought of the strips of rawhide he kept hidden, interwoven in the moccasins he wore. Closing his eyes he fell into a restless sleep, ignoring his poisonous companion. Pain from the gun butt to his head, wracked his body.

Dawn brought light sifting through the grey and heat. The diamondback rattler uncoiled and slithered out from under Dagger's shirt. The snake was beautiful in the fast approaching morning. Dagger hoped Baxter and his men might rise later than normal due to the alcohol consumed and the fight with the Navaho warriors.

Dagger, methodically, started moving his fingers and toes, then his arms, legs, trying to get circulation going. He caught a movement to his left as pebbles bounced off the floor of the pit.

Baxter's here, he thought. Is this where I'll die? I always thought I would go out in a blaze of gunfire, or get trampled hunting Buffalo, or die in the arms of a beautiful woman spent from a night of passion.

He saw a rope trailing down just high enough to reach. Dagger followed the ladder up to a beautiful pair of brown eyes.

Crying Bird motioned to come up the ladder. This was the first miracle he needed. He reached down, silently unweaving the rawhide thongs from his moccasins, pushing with his legs, he came to a sitting position against the wall of his stone prison.

He was starring straight into the slanted pit viper eyes of a sidewinder rattlesnake. "Damn, I thought I would get a warning rattle."

The silent deadly snake coiled tightly, rattled and made its strike.

Dagger knew a rattlesnake could strike as least double its body length. So, this sidewinder could easily cover the three feet between them. Dagger's hand flashed, grabbing the snake right behind the head a millisecond before it could insert its deadly venom. The snake's powerful body was whipping back and forth. Three other rattlesnakes coiled, rattling, sending a warning.

Dagger, in a blur, tied the rawhide around the sidewinder's head. Then, he feigned right as the smallest of the four made its strike. He dodged it, dropping the tied snake and trapped it with his left foot.

He turned and caught the third snake in mid air and swinging it like a lasso, he smashed it into the stone wall killing it.

With a side second strip of rawhide, he tied the second snake.

His sleeping companion, the diamondback, launched itself at his leg. Dagger dodged, pinning the snake with two hands and tied the snake with the last of the rawhide.

Wrapping the three snakes around his shoulder, Dagger grabbed the rope and climbed out of his stone grave.

He got to his feet and kissed Singing Bird hard on the lips.

Her eyes were wide, mesmerized by the writhing rattling snake man. She whispered, "Jump on the horse and lets escape."

Now, this is a woman, Dagger grinned, showing white, even teeth. "Not yet" He snarled, "It's payback time for Baxter."

Three Indian squaws and two of the guards lay dead. One of the guards lay spread eagled, a wound gurgling from an arrow to the throat. The other guard lay against a boulder his head bashed in by some bloody rocks.

Dagger gave Crying Bird a squeeze. He grabbed her quiver of arrows and her bow and ran to Baxter's camp. Unwrapping the tangle of snakes from his shoulder, he ran, now depositing the first one in the bedroll of a sleeping gun hand.

The man screamed as the angry snake deposited venom in his veins. Crying Bird buried a tomahawk in the man's back and he fell dead on the desert sand.

Dagger raised the bow and let loose an arrow.

The second man jumped from his bedroll clutching at an arrow in his throat. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Baxter Tate jumped up beside a tree as Dagger threw a three foot predator at him. Tate dodged the striking diamondback and drew iron.

Dagger unleashed two arrows in the blink of an eye. The first arrow caught Baxter in the left abdomen. Baxter's bucking colt was thrown off target by the piercing arrow. As Dagger fell, a burning sensation in his shoulder, the second arrow pinned Baxter's arm to the tree embedded through his forearm.

Dagger, with one snake still around his neck, walked up to Baxter Tate. The man was pulling at the Navaho arrow pinning him to the tree, the other arrow oozing blood out of his abdomen.

"We had a good thing, Baxter. Your greed will be your death." Dagger bashed Baxter's head against the tree knocking him unconscious.

Dagger started dragging the big gunman to the stone prison he had just climbed out of. He toppled the man into the stone hole with a thump. With a stick, Dagger rounded up the, now freed, snakes. He pitched them back into the hole.

Baxter Tate raised up on his knees, begging for mercy.

The last time Dagger would see Baxter Tate alive was when the sidewinder made its strike at the crying man leaving two puncture wounds high on the gunman cheek.

Falling to the sandy, desert ground, Dagger unwrapped the last snake from his neck. Puzzled, Dagger looked at the dead pit viper, a bullet had passed through its bony head. It had ricocheted off the snake's fang then left a bloody crease down Dagger's shoulder. The snake had taken a kill shot for him.

"Damn!" Maybe, Gray Cloud was right. The power and soul of the snake was in him.

Singing Bird and the one remaining squaw and the other Shoshone maiden, helped Dagger bury the dead bodies. Dagger and the three women maneuvered the wagons loaded with weapons, a herd of horses, and all the trading supplies from both sides to the base of the twin mountains close to where he had learned to draw a gun from Mendez many moons ago.

The prospector camp and gold was only a day's ride up the mountains. Building a guarded campfire under a rock bluff, the Shoshone women cooked some Buffalo meat from the supplies.

Dagger ate ravenously, then lay his blankets away from the fire. He spoke in Shoshone telling the women they were free to leave.

They objected, explaining he had saved their lives and they were indebted to him. They agreed to stand watch as Dagger fell into a deep sleep.

In the moon light, a shadow appeared over him. He awoke with a drawn gun in his right hand.

Crying Bird smiled, brown eyes glowing, as she untied her buckskin dress and slipped under the Buffalo Robe.

Dagger smiled as he kissed her. This was a debt he hoped would take a long time to repay.