The Lone Werewolf

by Tim Forder

Captain Cody O'Conner, U.S. Cavalry, retired, comes to the aid of two Indians under attack by Confederate rags that refuse to acknowledge the end of the war. Brought to near death as a result of his bravery, our hero is rewarded by an old medicine man with the gift of Skin-walker (Native American Shape-shifter) ointment! A gift that the old medicine man had passed up on personally using for fear the attractions of the power of nature would damn his soul. A gift he has gone so far as to refuse to pass on to his warrior-minded heir apparent for fear of corrupting his son's soul. With the power comes the tremendous temptations to use the power to serve the Great Evil One (Native American's Satan). Will Captain O'Conner have the character to withstand the lure to use his powerful new gift for evil instead of good?!

Dawn, a young squaw educated in the mystical ways of her people by her now deceased medicine man and grandfather, trains our new Skin-walker in his new mystical, magical abilities to transform into the many, mighty forms of nature!

Cody learns of the joys, strengths, and weaknesses in his capabilities to transform into a mighty Wolf with his prowess, the great Grizzly Bear with gigantic powers, the Coyote with his cunning, and the Golden Eagle with his predatory flight skills! While in training, our new hero learns how his new capabilities can come to the rescue of those who can't rescue themselves! Later, in the angst of battle, he discovers his ability to transform into the mighty Wolf while maintaining his human form, a half-man half-wolf — an all-powerful, all-terrifying werewolf — The Lone Werewolf!

When called upon, our one-man force of nature penetrates an impenetrable fortress and takes on a whole Confederate troop for the purpose of freeing a kidnapped Mrs. Custer. Is our Lone Werewolf up to the challenge of attacking a specially-trained unit of soldiers single handedly?! Can he do so without his attack causing the death of Mrs. Custer at the hands of her hostage takers?

Just as things quiet, the area and our hero is under siege by Jumlin and his bloodthirsty Children (Native American first vampire and his children); a tribe of vampires who infest the area while out to take down our might for good, the Skin-walker! Has our Lone Werewolf learned and trained enough to fend off a whole army of vampires single-handedly?! How will he handle the great demonic vampiric Jumlin himself?!

Is there a future for our valiant force of mystic, mighty nature? Is there a future for The Lone Werewolf?!


Chapter One

~ Somewhere in Texas, 1867 ~

It was sometime in the year 1867. The War of the States, or as some were calling it, the Civil War, had been over for about two years now.

I gave up my army career because of a bellyful of death. I had no plans of passing quietly as a Union Officer. Now I’d been roaming this great country, always heading westward with the idea of finding a new life for myself. I had no plans or ambitions except to see what was over the next horizon and leave my options open to whatever I may find over that next horizon. Not much of a plan, but it was working for me.

I occasionally took on the odd job to put a temporary roof over my head, to earn some money toward continuing my journeys, and when I got that restless itch, I’d see what was over the next horizon. In my journeying, I saddle trained some horses for a rancher who paid well for each horse I trained. I even sheriffed a small town for a spell, till the urge to move on got the better of me and I moved on. OK, I quit when I got the only deputy under me killed while we were trying to stop a robbery of our small bank that wasn’t really worth robbing, let alone dying over!

When on the trail, loneliness was never a problem, except for the occasional want of a woman. Despite my upbringing I wasn’t against scratching that itch with some small town fallen dove, and then moving on.

One night, somewhere in the great state of Texas, while enjoying some venison and a quiet camp, a cur wandered near the campfire and just stood there staring at me. Fighting off the temptation to go for my sidearm, I studied this pair of glowing eyes and a big dark area within the dark night. I guess since I hadn’t made any threatening moves, it decided either to move in closer to my campfire, for the warmth or to get a better look at me, I couldn’t say. As it neared the fire, I was able to get a better look at my quiet guest. It was a big brute; it looked like it had some wolf to it, but not totally.

I cut off a small piece of meat from over the fire and tossed it at the beast. The cur wolfed it down greedily. When it was finished, it went back to studying me.

I cut off a big piece and tossed it at the beast. The creature took its time with this bigger hunk of meat, apparently enjoying his gift. Moving slowly and making a point of appearing non-aggressive, I grabbed a second tin cup out of my saddlebags and poured some water into it from my canteen. Then I slowly walked to an area between the beast and where I had been sitting. The beast followed my every move with his glowing eyes. I sat the cup down and calmly went back to my place and went to cutting myself off another piece of dinner.

The cur looked at the tin cup, then at me, then back at the tin cup. He must have decided I was basically harmless.  He walked over to the tin cup and greedily consumed the contents... that’s to say less the amount being splashed all around the tin cup, being greedily consumed by the dusty dry ground!

The cur then went back to his place, lay down, and looked to be settling in for the night. I did the same. The last thing I did was to ease my sidearm out of its holster and slide the pistol comfortably across my chest... just in case.

The next morning, I awoke feeling fresh... and alone. The cur was gone. I stood up and looked around, but all I could see was a beautiful landscape and my horse, which I named Horse, grazing on a grassy area that I picked out just for his pleasure. Thinking of the cur, I guess I was just nice to visit and a meal provider, and so it was back to the wild for my new buddy.

After taking care of my personal needs, I set forth stoking a new fire for some coffee. I was so busy at getting a fire going for my morning repast that I was suddenly surprised to discover I wasn’t alone... The cur was back; he was sitting about where I had put down his water cup the night before. I also noticed that he had brought me a rabbit for breakfast.

Seeing he had my attention, he dropped the rabbit and went back to his place by the fire, apparently patiently awaiting my preparation of his contribution to breakfast.

Not to be an ungrateful host, I sat to skin it and prepare it as the main course for our breakfast. After properly roasting the meat over the fire, I cut off a piece and tossed it to my new friend. I figured that if he supplied the main course, he should get the first piece. As he settled down to breakfast, I cut off some meat for myself and joined in. While we both enjoyed our rabbit meat, I finally spoke, “If you are going to stick with me, I’d better figure on giving you a name.” While I gave the situation some additional thought, I tossed him another piece of meat. Eventually, full of his part of the rabbit, he just rested, staring at me … perhaps waiting for his new name.

Problem: What did I know of naming dogs, wolves, or whatever this cur was? The closest I come to a dog was a puppy one of my men had found on a battlefield. He had named his new loving find “Pup” only to have a musket ball rip through his uniform coat, throwing ‘Pup’ into his chest, killing them both before he even hit the ground.

I couldn’t very well name this one “Pup.” No way was this big brute a puppy. I thought of naming him Dog, but what if I found out later that he wasn’t a dog. I thought of naming him Wolf but, while he looked wolfish, I doubted he was all wolf. So what should I name him? I almost gave into the temptation to ask the cur what his name was... I hadn’t been out alone on the trail so long that I would expect an answer.

I said, still thinking it out, “I can’t call you ‘Big Brute’”... I took his small growl as agreement.

I continued, thinking aloud, “You are a bit of a cur. How about I call you Cur?” His tail came up and wagged a little. I remember seeing the puppy doing the same when it was happy. “So you agree? Your name is Cur.” The tail wagged harder, so forever he would be Cur. Unfortunately, just as the puppy wasn’t Pup for long, this beast was destined not to be Cur for long.

We continued traveling together with the only difference being that he went to disappearing when we made camp. I kind of figured he’d gone back to getting his own meals while I went back to fixing just for myself. We continued traveling together for... oh, I guess about two months. During that time if I came upon a town, Cur would stay holed up in the town stables with Horse. I’d just pay extra to the stable hand so he would feed Cur when he fed Horse. On such occasions I would, of course, occasionally look in on the two, making sure they were well treated. We did have trouble in one town. The stable hand was afraid of Cur and would have nothing to do with him for no amount of extra money. So we left, me, Horse, and Cur. I did my resupplying at the next trading post I came across.

We had trouble there, too. The trading post was within fortifications and the Post Guard informed me the commander had rules against dogs on this post. I suggested Cur keep the Post Guard company for a few hours. He complied, to the enjoyment of the soldier who hadn’t seen a dog since leaving his family’s home. I resupplied and spent some time in the trading post’s saloon enjoying a couple of drinks and a meal I didn’t have to catch, kill, and prepare. Afterward, I was happy to find Cur where I left him, tail wagging at my reappearance outside the post.

We’d been back on the trail for nearly two to three weeks, just Cur, Horse and me, following my trip at the fort’s trading post. We were enjoying a nice quiet nooner together when we heard a woman’s scream.
"The Lone Werewolf" by Tim Forder


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