White Bear Clan Lem Dew

White Bear Clan

Lem Dew

Author

WILL WELTON

Smashwords Edition

Copyrights 2006

Copyright at the Library of Congress

1997

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents either is products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental unless other wise noted.

Introduction

Over the years, the White Bear Clan were not only Indians, and Freedmen adopted into the clan but also a few white men. This is the first novel in the series about the White Bear Clan. If you get a chance to read, the other novels first don’t worry, for all are complete novels. These novels are from stories passed on from the family, about men who were members of the Clan, and told about my grandparents and great-grand parents, father and papa are the names, which they used in the telling of their story. Gray Eagle was my great-great-grand father and Hawk was my great-grand father, on my grand-mother’s side of the family. In other novels, I have written in this series, some of the people known to me personally. The story has a lot of true accounts based on stories told to me by other people. Father and papa told a lot of the stories.

The towns and places named in these books are all real. As the Indian Territory came closer to becoming the State of Oklahoma, a lot of the town names changed or simply no longer existed. Towns such as America, Moon, Ida (Battiest), Dookesville, Punkabua (Broken Bow), Bismarck (Wright City), Chance, and Scullyville (Bartlesville), wouldn’t make it after the Indian Territory was awarded statehood, some became ghost towns, or just places with some reminisce of where they was.

This novel in no way reflects on the living or dead when using names. Even if the names might refer to some of your kinfolks or mine.

Towns and places named in Welton Novels were all there at one time. Now they might have the names changed or only be the remembrance of some of the old folks like me. A lot of the towns are underwater, some towns moved to the lakes shore, from the numerous lakes the Corps of Engineers has created in the state of Oklahoma

This is novel and others that follow of stories told from over fifty years ago. One of the men who told some of the stories fought under the only Indian General, Stan Waite of the Cherokee in the Civil War between the States. Other members of the family have delivered food and supplies to Robbers Cave in Oklahoma, as late as 1915 until the Officers of the Law knew about the cave. In addition, they delivered to other places near the cave until the 1930s to what people of the time called the modern day outlaws.

CHAPTER I

This seemed like a good place to rest up for a day or two. There was good grass for the horse, water in the creek, plenty of firewood lying around, plenty of shade for lying in, and a cool breeze blowing through here. Lem had done a lot of riding looking for work just to find out there was none around. It was coming on dark and he just brought his horse into camp when off in the distance he could hear what sounded like thunder.

The rumbling didn’t stop as thunder usually does. It kept getting louder as the time when by until he could see the dust and a few of the cattle in the lead. Stampede was his only thought and Lem was getting hold of his saddle when he saw the cattle turning towards the gypsum hills. Lem knew they weren’t coming his way and would probably end up at Taylor Basin. The hills would keep them from scattering a lot and cause the cattle to circle and mill around to a stop.

Settling down by the saddle, he was going to enjoy a cup of coffee. When he saw the riders, coming his way riding like the devil was after them. When they saw Lem, they started shooting in his direction and Lem didn’t like that at all. Getting to his horse, Lem pulled his head around and picked up a front leg. The horse knew on that command of down the he would lie on his side until Lem pulled on his bridle and said up. It had taken several years of training him while he was living at Eagles place. Eagle had been like a father or older brother to me. His teaching of tracking, hunting, and training horses Lem learned with an open mind that absorbed everything Eagle told him.

By the time the horse had laid down, Lem had his Henry rifle up and it was talking very serious business to the men on horse back. When the rifle hit on an empty chamber, the men who were still in the saddle were turning and running their horses hard to get out of his rifle range. There were three riders coming from the same direction as the others had came from except they stopped out of range of his rifle.

In a few minutes, one of the riders tied a white sack on his rifle and the cowboys came forward with their horses at a walk. Reloading his rifle, Lem was holding it in his left hand, and had drawn his pistol out of its holster. When the cowboys got to within fifty feet of Lem, they stopped. One of them said, I’m Tully Dodson the owner of the cattle that was stampeded. We aren’t after you but are after the ones lying out there on the prairie or the ones that rode off from here.

I’m here resting up and them men came at me shooting. It kind of upset me so I decided to return the favor to them.

What are you doing out here anyway?

Looking for some place to work and make some money to live on. Lem replied as he lowered the rifle.

Will you work for thirty a month and found?

Yep, sure would.

Grab your gear and start helping to gather our cattle.

I’ll start with the horses over there and what weapons them men have. Your best bet on the cattle is headed due east to a natural basin and you’ll have cattle there and all the way back to where you started from.

Take your gear and horses due northwest to where our chuck wagon is and gather any cattle in between here and the wagon. If any of the crew is at camp bring them over to that basin you told us about. He turned to the man on his left while saying, Go catch one of the horse for his is done been killed. Tully told them.

Lem reached over getting the horses reins and pulling on them while say up Jumbo, up. The horse got to his feet and he started shaking the dust off of him. Tully, No need for that because Jumbo is just fine.

That’s a well-trained horse. Did you train him?

Yep, Lem answered while reaching for his saddle.

Lem got Jumbo saddled and his gear load. Then rode out and caught up the four horses of the men that had been shooting at me. Coming back to where the men lay, he searched each man taking their money, guns and knifes. Then he headed northwest to find the chuck wagon. That was Lem’s start of herding cattle and moving north. Then after several jobs punching cows to building line camps and moving from outfit to outfit, he was now a wolfer.

Now Lem’s hell was cold and while it numbed the body, the mind couldn’t shake the loneliness that stayed beside him as some damnable ghost rider. The years, the hell, turned him into something strange. Lem drifted from job to job, moving north to Nebraska. He tried herding and punching cattle with the other hands, but there was something about it that made me edgy. Lem knew him self and wasn’t cowhand material, but gone along, mostly for the money and a place to sleep.

Gradually the other hands drifted away from him. However, it wasn’t his fault. I’m what I’m a maverick type of person a hundred-fifty pounds of solid muscle man, standing five foot ten inches and slender as a lean panther. Kind of dark skinned from his Mother being half Osage Indian and his father was a red hair Scottish man.

Lem never got into any fights with the others, but never participated in any of their constant practical joking, either. The ramrod, a short, stocky fellow with a beard that looked like a growth of grizzly fur, had come up to me one night after supper.

Lem, the ramrod said, You aren’t happy here for I can tell just from looking at you. The other boys, they aren’t happy with you around, either. I’m not going to fire you, though, because you’re a good worker and you always hold up your end. I’m going to put you on a different job though, Lem something I think you might be good at the job I need done. You’re going to be a wolver. Lem thought back on that foreman’s order almost four years ago. The old beard face had known what he was doing. The job suited him for he was good at it.

After the buffalo disappeared from the big slaughter, the timber wolves moved on, away from the buffalo trails, looking for other game. The cattle that the wolves went after wasn’t game at all, but a distant cousin of the buffalo, cattle the only way Lem liked them was fried with potatoes and onions.

Lem never heard the word before the foreman had given him the job and now he was one of the best in the territory, good in fact, that many people didn’t know his real name they simply called him Wolfer. As far as people were concerned, though Lem hadn’t seen any for a month, and it seemed unlikely he would see any for at least that long in the future with this big blizzard. The snows had blown in from the north, choking the prairie and making narrow trails treacherous with slippery white film.

In the valleys, it was already a foot deep and still falling snowflakes as big as dimes padding on top of each other turning the pines trees, oak trees and undergrowth into rounded looming hulks. Easy, boy, Lem whispered to the shaggy dun horse he was riding. The animal twitched its head probably on hearing its name but the soft wolf hide that used to make his parka and pants, probably would have spooked any other horse with Lem’s appearance.

Little more than the brim of his Stetson poked out from the hood of the wool parka he was wearing. The edge of the hood rimmed with wolf fur, large tufts practically obscured his face. Only the bridge of his nose was visible and he had smeared dark crescents under his eyes with a mixture of Bear grease and charcoal to help prevent snow blindness. Hunched In the saddle, Lem gripped the reins with leather gloves.

The late afternoon sun gave me about another hour of daylight before he made it back to camp, a log cabin and corral about a mile away. Lem stopped the horse on the crest of a hill. Foot-long frosty vapor blew from the dun’s nostrils as he rested from the straining trip. He was breathing heavily and his thick legs were now trembling with the cold. Lem was glad the camp was only about a mile away. Lem knew the animal could travel more than that tonight if he had to move somewhere.

Then he heard them. He became aware of the sound even before the horse did. Sliding around in the saddle, Lem scanned the terrain, such as he could see. The trail he was riding was a clearing between two stands of timber, about a hundred feet wide with towering lodge pole pine on both sides. Gradually the valley sloped upward the whitened pines looking like needles in the distance. Beyond Lem could see no more as the blizzard puffed across a mountain peak miles away turning the clouds and snow into one white mass. The snow fell noiseless, windless like from a gigantic sifter.

He doubted his hearing at first and then pulling back the hood, he caught the sound again. It was faint, a mere brushing most men would have dismissed as a trick of their ears or the wind, but he knew better. He had been a wolfer too long to overlook even such a slight disturbance.

There was no sign of the wolves, but the sound continued. Reaching around behind him, Lem pushed aside some pelts and pulled the Winchester out of its sheath. Sliding the white specked glove through the lever, he tapped the barrel of the rifle gently on the horse’s flank, saying, C’mon, boy. The horse started plodding forward again just as the wolves broke through the trees. There were at least a dozen of them. Lem never knew of them to attack a man, but it looked as if they were going to take him on.

The leader was a big white, weighing better than a hundred and fifty pounds, Lem guessed. He was loping along at a slow pace, the snow furling behind him in tiny clouds onto the young males following in his tracks. They were grays, and kept their positions about five or six feet behind him, showing respect for his authority and mastery of the pack. Behind them some younger males, then the females, trailed by some pups, which were almost full grown.

Lem set his horse and stared at them. They were still a hundred yards or more away, but they were obviously coming for the horse and him. Lem didn’t know what to do. If he killed their leader, they might stop and turn back. If they were ravenous enough, they might turn on the body of the dead animal. Then again, some of the young males in front might take over, still leading the pack toward them. If he chose to run and to keep moving the horse onward as fast as possible, he might be able to get away from them. If he could make it to the frozen lake in front of the cabin, there was a good chance for him. Lem knew the wolves could run fast but not as fast as a horse, but faster than a man but the wolves had little endurance.

Lem had put special shoes with cleats on the horse. If he could make the lake, he might be able to pick up some speed and a good lead on the wolves. Lem doubted if they’d follow him more than a half mile, they wouldn’t have the wind for it. Lem would have stayed and shot them all if he could have gotten the horse to safety, but the chances were they would circle and overrun him before he could get them all.

The horse kept moving, picking up its legs faster as it topped a rise where the snow was shallower. Cupping one hand over his eyes, Lem sighted down the ridge and saw that it ran almost parallel to the lake and he turned in. If he followed it, he could pull ahead in the lighter snow. However, he’d come dangerously close to the pack’s line of travel before he could cut down and head for the lake. It would be the easiest route for the horse and Lem decided to chance it. Just as he topped the ridge and turned for the cutoff, Lem saw them and almost screamed in terror. Another pack of wolves was coming his way. They had been below the ridge in some trees near the lake and were on him in a few seconds.

Lem levered the rifle, shooting from the hip at the big gray that lunged toward him. The slug hit the wolf in the throat spinning it backwards into the snow. Though Lem was wheeling the horse as fast as he could, mindful of wolves’ tactics they were on them too quickly. Staying beneath the horse, they made it hard for Lem to get a clear shot at them. In a few seconds, they done it for four young males moving in and out hamstrung the horse. A pitiful cry ripped from the dun’s throat as his hind legs collapsed with the tendons cut by the powerful snapping jaws of the wolves.

Lem wrenched his feet from the stirrups and lunged across the saddle before the horse went down. Landing on his shoulder and rolling to a crouching position, the rifle still in his hand. He blasted at the wolves closest to him, felling two of them with three quick shots. Then he heard a snarl behind him. Against better instincts, he flattened him self as a big female leaped over the top of him. Bringing the gun up to fire, the shot hitting her belly before she regain her balance.

Some of the younger more inexperienced males who were circling began moving in. Then Lem upholstered his pistol, thumbed back the hammer, and began plugging them in the head one by one. Spinning around trying to keeping his back covered, he managed to get three of them. An old bitch came in slowly. Lem put a shot just under her ear.

Lem looked about him dumb founded for he had wiped out the whole pack, eight of them. What was happening? He never knew wolves to attack a man before now and then he remembered the first pack. They were about seventy-five yards down in the valley, but coming up fast on the rise. Lem put the barrel of the rifle to the head of the bellowing, downed horse. A low whimper escaped as Lem squeezed the trigger.

He then began to run with all the strength he could put into his legs. The lakeshore was another quarter mile away and the cabin a little less across the frozen lake. As he came down to the lakeshore the other pack of wolves was thundering down the slope behind him. A few stopped to feed on the horse, but there were six or seven of them led by the big white wolf coming for Lem for some unexplainable reason.

Lem fell when he came to the surface of the lake, misjudging the slipperiness of the snow-covered ice, his head cracked soundly against the hard surface, but he was on his feet again and started running, still shaking off the blurriness. Lem doubted if he had enough cartridges left in both guns to take care of the wolves following him so he kept running, his nostrils were puckering from sucking in the cold air, his thighs aching from trying to keep his balance as he ran.

Glancing behind, Lem saw the wolves were lagging unable to keep up their speed over the long distance. He wasn’t sure how much strength he had left in him, but would run until he collapsed. His heart was beating like a sledgehammer, but Lem knew if he kept going the wolves would weaken also. Maybe they would even turn back. Up ahead about twenty yards he could see the cabin. It was on a rise making it necessary to climb a short hill before getting inside.

Lem hit the shoreline and started scrambling up the hill. As he ran, the big white leader