The Lonesome Trail. John G. Neihardt

Then they ceased. There were sounds of voices coming dimly; then after a while the hoofs passed again, and there was a voice that said “saved hangin’ anyway.”

      The hoof beats grew dimmer, and Antoine knew by their hollow sound that his pursuers had begun to cross the ice on the back trail. He again gave his attention to the wolf. It lay very still. A feeling of supreme comfort came over Antoine. It was sweet to be a master. He laid his head upon the wolf’s motionless body. He was very weary, he had conquered, and he would sleep upon his prey.

      He awoke feeling a warm, rasping something upon his wounded cheek. A faint light came in at the entrance of the place. It was morning. In his sleep Antoine had moved his head close to the muzzle of the wolf. Now, utterly conquered, bruised, unable to arise, the brute was feebly licking the blood from the man’s wound.

      Antoine’s sense of mastery after his sound sleep made him kind for once. He was safe and something had caressed him, altho’ it was only a soundly-beaten wolf.

      “You pore devil!” said Antoine with a sudden softness in his voice; “I done you up, didn’t I? You hain’t so bad, I guess; but if I hadn’t done you, I’d got done myself. Hurt much, you pore devil, eh?”

      He stroked the side of the animal, whereupon it cried out with pain.

      “Pretty sore, eh? Well as long as I’m bigger’n you, I’ll be good to you, I will. I ain’t so bad, am I? You treat me square and you won’t never get no bad deals from the half-breed; mind that. Hel-lo! you’re a Miss Wolf, ain’t you? Well, for the present, I’m a Mister Wolf, and I’m a good un! Let me hunt you up a name; somethin’ soft like a woman, ’cause you did touch me kind of tender like. Susette!—that’s it—Susette. You’re Susette now. I hain’t got no people, so I’m a wolf from now on, and my name’s Antoine. Susette and Antoine—sounds pretty good, don’t it? Say, I know as much about bein’ a wolf as you do. Can’t teach me nothin’ about sneakin’ and hidin’ and fightin’! Say, old girl, hain’t I a tol’able good fighter now? O, I know I am, and when you need it again, you’re goin’ to get it good and hard, Susette; mind that. Hain’t got nothin’ to eat about the house, have you, old girl? Then, bein’ head of the family with a sick woman about, I’m goin’ huntin’. Don’t you let no other wolf come skulkin’ around! You know me! I’ll wear his skin when I come back, if you don’t mind!”

      And he went out.

      Before noon he returned bringing three jack rabbits, having shot them with his six-shooter. “Well, Susette,” said he, “got any appetite?”

      He passed his hand over the wolf’s snout caressingly. The wolf flinched in fear, but the man continued his caresses until she licked his hand.

      “Now we’re friends and we can live together peaceable, can’t we? Took a big family row, though. Families needs stirrin’ up now and then, I reckon.”

      He skinned a rabbit and cut off morsels of meat.

      “Here, Susette, I’m goin’ to fill your hide first, ’cause you’ve been so good since the row that I’m half beginnin’ to love you a little. There, that’s it—eat. Does me good to see you eat, pore, sick Susette!”

      The wolf took the morsels from his hand and a look almost tame came into her eyes. When she had eaten a rabbit, Antoine had a meal of raw flesh. Then he sat down beside her and stroked her nose and neck and flanks. There was an air of home about the place. He was safe and sheltered, had a full stomach, and there was a fellow creature near him that showed kindness, altho’ it had been won with a beating. But this man had long been accustomed to possessing by violence, and he was satisfied.

      “Susette,” he said in a soft voice; “don’t get mean again when you get well. I want to live quiet and like somethin’ that likes me oncet. If you’ll be good, I’ll get you rabbits and antelope and birds, and you won’t need to hunt no more nor go about with your belly flappin’ together. And I know how to make fire—somethin’ you don’t know, wise as you be; and I’ll keep you warm and pet you.

      “Is it a bargain? All you need to do is just be good, keepin’ your teeth out’n my cheek. I’ve been lonesome always. I hain’t got no people. Do you know who your dad was, Susette? Neither do I. Some French trader was mine, I guess. We’re in the same boat there. My mother was an Omaha. O Susette, I know what it means to set a stranger in my mother’s lodge. ‘Wagah peazzha!’ [no good white man], that’s what the Omahas called me ever since I was a little feller. And the white men said ‘damn Injun.’ And where am I? O, hangin’ onto the edge of things, gettin’ ornry and nasty and bad! I’ve stole horses and killed people and cussed fer days, Susette. And I want to rest; I want to love somethin’. Cabanne’s men down at the post would laugh to hear me sayin’ that. But I do. I want to love somethin’. Tried to oncet; her name was Susette, jest like your’n. She was a trader’s daughter—a pretty French girl. That was before I got bad. I talked sweet to her like I’m a talkin’ to you, and she kind of liked it. But the old man Lecroix—that was her dad—he showed me the trail and he says: ‘Go that way and go fast, you damn Injun!’

      “I went, Susette, but I made him pay, I did. I seen him on his back a-grinnin’ straight up at the stars; and since then I hain’t cared much. I killed several after that, and I called ’em all Lecroix!

      “Be a good girl, Susette, and I’ll stick to you. I’m a good fighter, you know, and I’m a good grub-hunter, too. I learned all that easy.”

      He continued caressing the wolf, and she licked his hand when he stroked her muzzle.

      Days passed; the winter deepened; the heavy snows came. Antoine nursed his bruised companion back to health. Through the bitter nights he kept a fire burning at the entrance of the hole. The depth of the snow made it improbable that any should learn his whereabouts; and by that time the news must have spread from post to post that Antoine, the outlaw half-breed, had drowned himself in the ice-fissure.

      The man had used all his ammunition, and his six-shooter had thus become useless. With the skill of an Indian he wrought a bow and arrows. He made snowshoes and continued to hunt, keeping the wolf in meat until she grew strong and fat with the unaccustomed luxurious life.

      Also she became very tame. During her weakness the man had subdued her, and through the long nights she lay nestled within the man’s great arms and slept.

      When the snow became crusted, Antoine and Susette went hunting together, she trotting at his heels like a dog. To her he had come to be only an unusually large wolf—a masterful male, a good fighter, strong to kill, a taker of his own.

      One evening in late December, when the low moon threw a shaft of cold silver into the mouth of the lair, Antoine lay huddled in his furs, listening to the long, dirge-like calls of the wolves wandering inward from the vast pitiless night. Susette also listened, sitting upon her haunches beside the man with her ears pricked forward. When the far away cries of her kinspeople arose into a compelling major sound, dying away into the merest shadow of a pitiful minor, she switched her tail uneasily, shuffled about nervously, sniffing and whining.

      Then she began pacing with an eager swing up and down the place to the opening and back to the man, sending forth the cry of kinship whenever she reached the moonlit entrance.

      “Night’s cold, Susette,” said Antoine; “tain’t no time fer huntin’. Hain’t I give you enough to eat? Come here and snuggle up and let’s sleep.”

      He caught the wolf and with main force held her down beside him. She snarled savagely and snapped her jaws together, struggling out of his arms and going to the opening where she cried out into the frozen stillness. The answer of her kind floated back in doleful chorus.

      “Don’t go!” begged the man. “Susette, my pretty Susette! I’ll be so lonesome.”

      As the chorus died, the wolf gave a loud yelp and rushed out into the night. A terrible rage seized Antoine. He leaped from his furs and ran out after the wolf. She fled with a rapid, swinging trot over the scintillating snow toward the concourse of