Buck was a full day’s ride behind the train, but the negotiations with the Cheyenne had taken longer than he hoped. He now found himself in Wolf Canyon with night about to fall. The Indians had a legend about this place; they said that a man-wolf stalked it at night devouring ponies, dogs, and even men. It was drawn, the legend went, by even the tiniest hint of red.
“Total nonsense,” Buck said aloud.
He shivered as has he removed his red waistcoat, and crammed it deep into his saddlebag. He then stamped out his campfire, checking that not a single ember remained.
“Nonsense,” he repeated, placing his rifle across his lap, wrapping himself in a blanket for the night.