Arizona Blue—Gunfighter [The Wolves Nest: Chap 2 of 7]
Arizona Blue—Gunfighter
The Wolves Nest—in the North
[Episode Five]
Northern Minnesota Area–Winter of 1877
Chapter Two of Seven
Nightfall: and the Hearth [Chapter Two of Seven]
“Mr. Arizona, you can sleep on the hammock, my wife and I will fix it up for you by the fire place.” He started to tie the ropes of the hammock to the logs of the upper roof leading into the loft of the house, where the boy slept. Feba and Harry slept in the room next to the back of the house where the Wolves were, the wolves being outside; two wolves stayed in his bedroom, one upstairs with the boy. Arizona thought this quite unnatural, but let it pass one quickly; he was, if anything, in a curious position; and it was new country for him. He was here for a day or two, and that was that. Whatever the reason it would pas, and eventuality would sooth it out later, he was tired. He looked at his guns, wanting to put one into his belt, like Harry sleeping with the wolves for protection, but he figured he slept light anyways. If the Indians decided to come, he could jump up and race to his guns.
As twilight turned into to night, he started to dream of Christmas when he was a young boy… his mother, and him bringing home a Christmas tree from the market, or chopping one down, when he got older, in someone’s backyard when they were sleeping, and dragging it home. She loved putting candy and things on the tree, his mother. It was December 18th, getting close to Christmas—yes indeed, a solitary man, with old Christmas memories of his mother. She had passed away now, and his father was dead, also. But Christmas was always special for him, as it was for his mother.
While he was slipping, falling into a deep sleep, he seemed to be counting the money Jessie James had robbed from the bank in Northfield. He woke himself up shaking his head, checked his pockets to see if he had his five twenty-dollar gold pieces. They were there, tight in his front pocket. ‘What a dream he told himself,’ and counted his several silver dollars as well.
He just couldn’t sleep, he got up, looked out the window, and as the moon reflected on the white snow he saw people tracks, thinking they were Tony’s. Then he rubbed his eyes, and saw tracks next to them tracks—more people tracks, circumstance changed: there was movement out there, he told himself.
If one thinks about snow, you know you can’t hide tracks until it snows again. He shook his head, pulled his gun out from their holsters by the door. He heard a thump, he looked at the hearth, the fire was almost out, and he saw legs, two shots went into the fire place, and the legs turned into Indian knees, and then an arrow went through the window, and an hatchet.
After the next arrow came through the window, Arizona started shooting out it—a cold wind came seeping in; Harry and the wolves ran out to see what was happening. Up in the loft, the wolf was chewing on an Indian’s arm; he had gotten through the upper window.
Said Harry with anguish,
“I was waiting for this; Feba, let the wolves loose,” and she ran with a knife in her hands to the back and started cutting all the ropes holding the wolves together, and they started running around the house like wild beasts jumping on the Indians, chewing on their flesh and into their bones, ripping flesh and bones out of their sockets.
The Indians started climbing up on the house’s roof, trying to get away from the wolves, and spotting their horses called for them, and some did jump onto them, white others remained on the roof fighting the wolves, as their horses tried aimlessly to stop on them, only to get chewed up, and run off.
At this point Arizona grabbed his holster put it on, and was using two guns to kill the Indian after Indian, shooting at shadows, and at their horses likewise. None came through the backdoor, for that is where the wolves were; and to the wolves, the Indians were simply mortal clay.
Now Arizona knew why this family was keeping so many wolves.
“You’re a good shot, Arizona,” said Harry, “you got four savages, and my dogs only three.”
The band of Chippewa’s left in a hurry; there were about fifteen totals, to the group. Five were dead, and two were being eaten alive by the dogs.
Arizona observed to if Harry was going to stop the dogs, but he didn’t. They continued to eat the body’s right to the bones, and chewed the marrow out of the bones, cracking them with their strong jaws.
The Wolves Nest—in the North
[Episode Five]
Northern Minnesota Area–Winter of 1877
Chapter Two of Seven
Nightfall: and the Hearth [Chapter Two of Seven]
“Mr. Arizona, you can sleep on the hammock, my wife and I will fix it up for you by the fire place.” He started to tie the ropes of the hammock to the logs of the upper roof leading into the loft of the house, where the boy slept. Feba and Harry slept in the room next to the back of the house where the Wolves were, the wolves being outside; two wolves stayed in his bedroom, one upstairs with the boy. Arizona thought this quite unnatural, but let it pass one quickly; he was, if anything, in a curious position; and it was new country for him. He was here for a day or two, and that was that. Whatever the reason it would pas, and eventuality would sooth it out later, he was tired. He looked at his guns, wanting to put one into his belt, like Harry sleeping with the wolves for protection, but he figured he slept light anyways. If the Indians decided to come, he could jump up and race to his guns.
As twilight turned into to night, he started to dream of Christmas when he was a young boy… his mother, and him bringing home a Christmas tree from the market, or chopping one down, when he got older, in someone’s backyard when they were sleeping, and dragging it home. She loved putting candy and things on the tree, his mother. It was December 18th, getting close to Christmas—yes indeed, a solitary man, with old Christmas memories of his mother. She had passed away now, and his father was dead, also. But Christmas was always special for him, as it was for his mother.
While he was slipping, falling into a deep sleep, he seemed to be counting the money Jessie James had robbed from the bank in Northfield. He woke himself up shaking his head, checked his pockets to see if he had his five twenty-dollar gold pieces. They were there, tight in his front pocket. ‘What a dream he told himself,’ and counted his several silver dollars as well.
He just couldn’t sleep, he got up, looked out the window, and as the moon reflected on the white snow he saw people tracks, thinking they were Tony’s. Then he rubbed his eyes, and saw tracks next to them tracks—more people tracks, circumstance changed: there was movement out there, he told himself.
If one thinks about snow, you know you can’t hide tracks until it snows again. He shook his head, pulled his gun out from their holsters by the door. He heard a thump, he looked at the hearth, the fire was almost out, and he saw legs, two shots went into the fire place, and the legs turned into Indian knees, and then an arrow went through the window, and an hatchet.
After the next arrow came through the window, Arizona started shooting out it—a cold wind came seeping in; Harry and the wolves ran out to see what was happening. Up in the loft, the wolf was chewing on an Indian’s arm; he had gotten through the upper window.
Said Harry with anguish,
“I was waiting for this; Feba, let the wolves loose,” and she ran with a knife in her hands to the back and started cutting all the ropes holding the wolves together, and they started running around the house like wild beasts jumping on the Indians, chewing on their flesh and into their bones, ripping flesh and bones out of their sockets.
The Indians started climbing up on the house’s roof, trying to get away from the wolves, and spotting their horses called for them, and some did jump onto them, white others remained on the roof fighting the wolves, as their horses tried aimlessly to stop on them, only to get chewed up, and run off.
At this point Arizona grabbed his holster put it on, and was using two guns to kill the Indian after Indian, shooting at shadows, and at their horses likewise. None came through the backdoor, for that is where the wolves were; and to the wolves, the Indians were simply mortal clay.
Now Arizona knew why this family was keeping so many wolves.
“You’re a good shot, Arizona,” said Harry, “you got four savages, and my dogs only three.”
The band of Chippewa’s left in a hurry; there were about fifteen totals, to the group. Five were dead, and two were being eaten alive by the dogs.
Arizona observed to if Harry was going to stop the dogs, but he didn’t. They continued to eat the body’s right to the bones, and chewed the marrow out of the bones, cracking them with their strong jaws.
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 6:11 PM
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