CHAPTER 52
"I ain't afraid to die!" Little John shouts, heaving heavily as he swings his ax with less and less force.
He finally sees that the wolf is getting careless and putting himself within striking distance. He lifts his ax over his head and prepares to lower it into the charging monster's skull, but when he tries to release his wrath, the ax seems frozen in place. He turns around with a "what gives?" expression on his face.
A fresh-to-the-fight, clever wolf is behind Little John. It stands with a proud-seeming smile, like, "Gotcha!"
With a fierce shake of his head, the wolf snaps the wooden ax handle in half, stealing Little John's defense away, and along with it, his hope.
Now, with two wolves circling him and readying for the kill, Little John has finally lived up to his name.
He feels a crushing pain on his right calf and looks down to discover that the third wolf has returned. Its bloodstained muzzle has taken him by surprise. He releases a carnal scream that excites the pack.
"Please, God, spare me!"
He falls to his side and covers his face with his arms, as he has no fight left to give to the master butchers.
Between the break in his arms, he sees the leader leaping for him and acknowledges with the Lord 's Prayer that the end has arrived. The wolf that discovered the lumberjack happens to be the alpha wolf. When he sees a weakness and latches on to Little John's coat, the other wolves latch on to his side, stretching his skin so tight he thinks it will rip in two. He's totally cognitive of the carnage but wishes he isn't. He knows now that he underestimated their strength and sheer ferocity. It will take only seconds for them to sever his arms and legs. He wonders how much of this barbarism he'll be forced to suffer before the lights go out and peaceful death sets his reborn Christian soul free.
BOOM!
He feels the full, powerful impact of the alpha wolf as its slam against his chest, and he refuses to see if his intestines are sprawled out before him. "Thank you, God!" he mumbles to himself, managing a smile as the thought of his men returning with a rifle brings a rushing wave of hope.
A wrenching, ripping noise makes him scream and think, Is my flesh being torn apart? He lets loose a long scream. "Ahhhh! Ahhh! Ahhh!"
A second shot echoes off in the distance, hitting the wolf who had snapped the ax in half. Blood and brains spray all over the white snow. The wolf lifts its paws twice, then falls dead with its mouth agape and tongue extended toward Little John's exposed abdomen.
The third wolf gets wise and releases the lumberjack's leg. It darts back underneath the pine skirt, disappearing out the other end. With a quick howl, it calls for the pack, then vanishes in the snowy forest.
From the top of the ridgeline, W.H. chambers a third round by cocking his lever-action, Henry Big Boy .44-caliber, 1860 rifle. Cordite plumes out the barrel. He leans in and inhales. Vapors slip into his nostrils. He steadies his racing heart, holds the rifle up to his lips, and kisses it. He slides the weapon into his shoulder socket and lines his eye up with the long tin scope. His pupils narrow. The six-power lens brings him so close, it makes him feel like he's down there with Little John.
"Help! Help. He's got me!"
W.H. scans the scene. A limp alpha wolf, a second wolf in pieces, and a thrashing Herculean man. He flips the weapon on safe but keeps the hammer cocked as he rises from his prone position with a crooked smile.
"I'm dyin'! I'm dyin'!" Little John shouts between hacking gasps and teary-eyed sobs. "He got me. He's tearing my guts out!"
Although it takes W.H. a few minutes to work his way down the ridge, he can't help but laugh, thinking back to the burly man who spewed courage like a volcano.
"Where's all that courage now?" W.H. says and slaps the brawny lumberjack across the face to restore him to his senses.
When Little John sees two bright blue eyes grinning behind round gold-framed lenses, he stops spewing fear.
"How can you laugh at a dying man?" he asks, holding his blood-soaked hands up. "Ain't any part of you Christian?"
W.H. presses his fist against his short auburn mustache, hiding a smile.
As Little John pieces together what has happened, he begins to calm down.
"Ain't nothin' more enticing to a wolf than live bait," W.H. says.
Little John shakes his head in confusion. "Whad'ya mean?"
W.H. extends his hand. "Whad'ya mean, 'whad'ya mean'?'"
"Who's the bait?"
With a heavy tug, W.H. pulls his companion to his feet.
The pawn slowly pats himself down and finds blood everywhere. He examines his clothes and realizes the ripping he heard was not in fact his flesh but only his thick wool coat. He looks to the ground and spies W.H.'s brutal work. A small hole on one side of the wolf indicates the entry, whereas a devastating wound the size of his fist shows the exit.
The third wolf howls long and hard in the forest, desiring an update on its pack members.
"Follow your friends' tracks outta here. I got a job to finish," W.H. says, cocking his rifle.
"You're going after him?" he asks incredulously.
W.H. faces him and smiles with wild eyes, "Got me two hundred cartridges and fifty pounds of bounty on them two wolves. Might be as much as five hundred pounds of reward money out here, all said and done." He cocks his head and smiles wryly.
"You're crazy! You're really nuts!" Little John shouts. He quickly fastens his snowshoes and scuffles up the ridgeline in time to greet most of his friends. Father Time holds a rifle.
"We heard shots!" Silent Slim says.
"Are you okay?" Father Time asks.
"I'd be dead if it wasn't for…" He looks past Father Time and sees Gnome's bloody, mangled body in a disfigured pile. The tracks and divots in the snow tell the heavy-hearted story.
That coulda been me, Little John thinks but dares not say aloud.
Alone in the forest, W.H. follows the wolves' tracks back up the ridgeline from whence they came.
"Don't wanna be low; gotta get high. Can't see 'em creeping up on you when you're low." He huffs and puffs as he goes.
When he hears the cackling cries of the pack, he sighs and drops down into the prone position to take careful aim. He glances back at the lumberjacks and waves good-bye as they disappear.
"Don't need you fellas anymore, anyway," he hollers.
SNAP.