The Wolf Hunt.

CONTINUED from The Texas Spur, September 30, 2021. The publisher of The Wolf Hunt has supported a promotion reminiscent of 19th-century popular novels—that is, serialization as “parts” in periodicals. The first installment ran April 22—and this is the concluding segment for which we have permission to run. See us at The Texas Spur newspaper office to purchase a copy of the book . . . and the author might even be “will”-ing to sign it.

A Derrick Miles Mystery

NOW AVAILABLE from Five Star Publishing, a part of Gale, a Cengage Company Excerpted with permission of the publisher

Chapter 4

Three Broken Threads

{In which Derrick Miles and Frank Hooper discuss mysteries of hats, boots, and guns.}

NO SOONER HAD WE BID GOOD-BYE TO THE BEFUDDLED cab driver at the Pickwick than Trey Wolverton himself appeared, stamping down the stairs in a huff. His face was flushed with anger, and in his hands he carried an old and dusty boot. So furious was he that he was hardly articulate, and when he did speak it was in a much more rushed and agitated tone than any which we had heard from him earlier.

“Seems to me they’re playing me for a sucker in this damned hotel,” he cried. “They’ll find they’ve monkeyed with the wrong man unless they’re careful. By thunder, if that ignoramus can’t find my missing boot there’s going to be trouble. I can take a joke with the best, Captain Miles, but they’ve stepped over the line this time.”

“Still looking for your boot?”

“Yes, sir, and I mean to find it.”

“But didn’t I recall you said it was a new brown boot?”

“So it was. And now it’s an old black one,” Wolverton said, waving it in our faces for proof.

“What! You don’t mean to say—?”

“That’s just what I do mean to say. I only had three pairs to my name—the new brown, my black dress boots, and the work boots which I am now wearing again. This morning they took one of my brown ones, and this afternoon they have sneaked one of the black.”

An agitated bellman had appeared upon the scene, and Wolverton practically accosted him. “Well, have you got it? Speak out, mister, and don’t stand staring!”

“No, sir; I have asked all over the hotel, but I haven’t heard a word about it.”

“Well, either that boot comes back before sundown or I’ll see the manager and tell him there are twenty other hotels in this city and it’s the last he’ll see of my money at this one.”

“It shall be found, sir—I promise if you have a little patience it’ll be found.”

“See to it, for it’s the last thing of mine that I’ll lose in this den of thieves. Captain Miles, you’ll excuse my troubling you about such a trifle—”

“I think it’s well worth troubling about.”

“Why, you look very serious over it.” “How do you explain it?”

“How do you explain it?”

“I just don’t attempt to explain it. It seems the very queerest, most maddening thing that ever happened to me.” “The queerest perhaps—” said Miles thoughtfully.

“The queerest perhaps—” said Miles thoughtfully.

“What do you make of it yourself ?”

“Well, I don’t profess to understand it yet. This case of yours is very complex, Mr. Wolverton. When taken in conjunction with your uncle’s death I am not sure that among the scores of major cases which I have handled there is one which cuts so deep. But we hold several threads in our hands, and the odds are that one or other of them guides us to the truth. If we persist, sooner or later we must come upon the right.”

It was in our client’s private sitting room to which we afterwards repaired that Miles asked Wolverton of his intentions. It took little effort to observe that he had been busying himself repacking a trunk and valise that had been unpacked less than twenty-four hours before.

“You’re making preparations to go?” Barlow asked him.

“You’d better believe it. If this godforsaken place is the best Texas has to offer, I might as well go ahead and get the rest over with.”

“So you’re determined to go to the Wolverton ranch house,” Miles said, an observation rather than a question.

“As soon as I can get a train out of here.”

“On the whole,” said Miles, “I think your decision is a wise one. I have ample evidence that you are being dogged in Fort Worth, and amid the throngs of this city it is difficult to discover who these people are or what their object can be. If their intentions are evil they might do you a mischief, and we should be powerless to prevent it. You did not know, Mr. Wolverton, that you were followed shortly ago from the restaurant?”

“Followed! By whom?”

“That, unfortunately, is what I cannot tell you. But let’s start nearest to Basil Wolverton’s environs. Mr. Barlow, have you among your neighbors or acquaintances in Dickens County or thereabouts seen any man with a black, full beard?”

“No—or, let me see—why, yes. Antonío López, the Earl’s ranch manager, is dark-haired, and he wears a beard.”

“Ha! Where is López?”

“He is in charge of the ranch house and is there, I presume.”

“We had best ascertain if he in truth is, or if by any possibility he might be in Fort Worth.”

“How can you do that?”

“I don’t suppose there is a telephone.” “No, I’m afraid we have no such big-city conveniences in our vicin

“No, I’m afraid we have no such big-city conveniences in our vicinity. But there is a telegraph strung across the fence posts to Espuela, ten miles away; that’s the closest one, and they could send a rider out.”

“Give me a telegraph form from that desk, then. ‘Is all ready for Trey Wolverton?’ That will do.” Turning to Barlow, he asked for the addressee’s information. “Very good. Address to Antonío López, the Wolverton ranch house. Send to Es – pue – la, Texas,” he pronounced aloud as he wrote. “As the locals call it,” he said, turning to Barlow with a wry smile.

“I suppose it’s not a bad idea to wire ahead in any case,” I said.

“Now, we will send a second wire to the postmaster at Espuela: ‘Telegram to Antonío López to be delivered into his own hand. If absent, please return wire to Trey Wolverton, Pickwick Hotel, Fort Worth.’ That should let us know before morning whether López is at his post in Dickens County or not.”

“Makes sense to me,” said Wolverton.

“While we are at it, Mr. Barlow, can you tell me more about this López?”

“He is the son of the original ranch manager, who died a decade ago. They have looked after the ranch since before the Earl acquired it. So far as I know, he and his wife are as respectable a couple as any in the county, and they’ve always seemed quite devoted to their duties.”

“At the same time,” said Wolverton, “if there’s no member of the owner’s family around, they’ve got free rein to do as they choose.”

“That is true, I suppose.”

“Will López profit in any way by Sir Basil’s will?” asked Miles.

“He and his wife stand to receive a tidy sum,” Barlow responded. “It’s a generous bequest. But of course the will has not been read yet.”

“Ha! Did they know this bequest would come their way?”

“I do not see how they could have known; Sir Basil wanted his intentions kept private, even from family.”

“That is very interesting.” “I hope,” said Barlow, “that thee does not look with suspicious eyes upon everyone who received a legacy from Sir Basil, for I also had a portion of land left to me.”

“Indeed! And anyone else?”

“There were many sums, some nominal, some generous, to individuals, and a few public charities. The residue all goes to Trey Wolverton.”

“And how much do you calculate that to be?”

“Seven hundred and forty thousand dollars.” The heir to this considerable wealth raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I had no idea that so impressive a figure was involved,” said Wolverton.

“Sir Basil had the reputation of being well off, but I did not know how very rich he was until I came to examine his securities a few weeks ago,” Barlow explained. “The total value of the estate is close on to a million.”

“Dear me!” exclaimed Miles. “It is a stake for which a man might well play a desperate game. And one more question, Mr. Barlow. Supposing that anything happened to our young friend here—you will forgive the unpleasant hypothesis—who would inherit the estate?”

“Since Nigel Wolverton, Sir Basil’s brother, and his half-brother, Randall, died unmarried, the estate would descend to the Grahams, who are distant cousins. Hugh Graham is a cotton broker in Nacogdoches, quite advanced in age.” “Thank you. These details are all of great interest. Have you met

“Thank you. These details are all of great interest. Have you met this Hugh Graham?”

“Yes; he once came down to visit Sir Basil. He is a man of venerable appearance and of saintly life. I remember that he refused to accept any settlement from Sir Basil, though the Earl pressed it upon him.”

“And this man of simple tastes would inherit Sir Basil’s fortune.”

“He would be the heir to the money as well as the ranch unless it were willed otherwise by the present owner, who can, of course, do what he likes with it.”

“And have you made a will of your own, Trey?”

Wolverton expressed a wry laugh. “No, Captain Miles, I have never given the matter a moment’s thought. A man who moves from town to town in mining camps and hasn’t yet seen a boon from his efforts hardly puts that task at the top of his list.”

“Quite so. Well, Trey, I am of one mind with you as to the advisability of your going down to Dickens County without delay—after writing out a holographic will. There is only one provision which I must make. You certainly must not go alone.”

“Mr. Barlow returns with me.”

“But Mr. Barlow has his farm to attend to, and his house is a good two hours’ ride from yours. With all the goodwill in the world he may be unable to help you. No, Trey, you must take with you someone, a trusty man, who will be always by your side.”

“Wouldn’t you come yourself, Captain Miles?”

“I had hoped to, until only an hour ago,” he replied. “You can understand that, with my extensive consulting practice and with the constant appeals which reach me from many quarters, it is often not practical for me to be absent from Fort Worth for an indefinite time. At the present instant one of the most revered names in Texas is being besmirched by a blackmailer, and my aid has been requested to prevent a disastrous scandal. You will see how impossible it is for me to go to Dickens County.”

“Well, that’s a fine kettle of fish. Looks like I’ve wasted a good bit of time and you’ve wasted mine. What do you recommend?” Wolverton said sharply.

“If my friend and associate Dr. Hooper would undertake it, there is no man who is better worth having at your side when you are in a tight place. No one can say so more confidently than I.”

The proposition took me completely by surprise, but before I had time to answer, Wolverton turned his gaze on me as though he were sizing me up for the job.

“No offense, Dr. Hooper, but I wasn’t looking for a babysitter. And I can’t make any claim for what we’d be walking into.”

“I assure you,” said Miles, “that Frank Hooper is a man I’d trust with my own life. And when a crisis comes, as it inevitably will, I’ll be available to advise.”

Such confidence in my qualities, Miles had rarely voiced aloud. I could only follow his lead. “Captain Miles flatters me, but he does not exaggerate my dedication to duty,” I said. “I’m happy to place myself at your service.”

“Well, now, that is real kind of you, Dr. Hooper,” said Wolverton with obvious irony. “If you’re so inclined, well, I guess we’ll just have a jolly old jaunt out to the breaks country.”

“I do not know how I could employ my time better.”

“And you will report very carefully to me,” said Miles. “Now, if there’s been no change in the railway timetable, tomorrow morning’s 7:13 Texas & Pacific for Cisco and the spur up to Albany would be your best bet, taking the mail hack from there to Clairemont and on to Espuela. What say you, Mr. Barlow—two days’ journey?”

“Yes, and happy I will be to make it. My wife and work await.”

“Splendid. Then tomorrow at seven, unless you hear to the contrary, we shall meet at the Union Depot, and we shall know if there has been word from the ranch also.” We had risen to depart when Wolverton gave a shout of triumph, and diving into one of the corners of the room he drew a brown boot from under the mirrored wardrobe.

“My missing boot!” he cried.

“May all our difficulties vanish as easily!” said Derrick Miles.

“But it is a very singular thing,” Barlow remarked. “I searched this room carefully myself before lunch.”

“And so did I,” said Wolverton. “Every inch of it. That sorry porter must have put it there while we were out, hoping to dodge the blame!” The porter in question was sent for but professed to know nothing of the matter, nor could any inquiry clear it up, and we left our two clients still in consternation.

Another item had been added to that constant and apparently purposeless series of small mysteries which had succeeded each other so rapidly. The whole grim story of Sir Basil’s death aside, we had had a line of inexplicable incidents all within the limits of a single day: the printed letter, the black-bearded spy in the hansom, the loss of the new brown boot, the loss of the old black boot, and now the return of the new brown boot.

Miles remained silent in the cab as we drove back to Houston Street, and I knew from his drawn brows and keen face that his mind, like my own, was busy in endeavoring to frame some scheme into which all these strange and apparently disconnected episodes could be fitted. Into the early evening he sat lost in tobacco and thought, while I busied myself in packing.

I set my satchel, valise, and large camera case by the door, ready for the morning’s mission. But I could no longer hold back the question that had been burning in my mind throughout the afternoon.

“You know very well that I am amenable to any assignment with which you decide to entrust me,” I said to my esteemed partner. “But this arrangement seems unprecedented, do you not agree?” “An unprecedented stratagem may be just the thing in an unprec

“An unprecedented stratagem may be just the thing in an unprecedented case,” Miles said quixotically. “And an accessory captured alive is certainly far more useful than one captured dead. A target may fly from the trap for a kill—but a trap may also be laid to keep a target from flying.”

I shook my head, certain only that I would receive no sensible insight this night.

Just before dinner the Western Union messenger rang the doorbell, and almost at the same time the telephone rang. Miles took the call while I read the telegram: “Visited 12 hotels, sorry unable to trace Gazette sheet. CARTWRIGHT.”

“That was Wolverton calling from the hotel, Hooper. He received the return telegram reporting that López is at the ranch. There go two of my threads, Hooper. There is nothing more stimulating than a case where everything goes against you. We must cast round for another scent.”

“We have still the cabman who drove the spy.”

“Who either made a lucky guess, or spotted me on Main Street before deciding to pull his prank. I tell you, Hooper, this time we have got a foeman who is worthy of our steel. I’ve been checkmated in Fort Worth. I can only wish you better luck in Dickens County. But I’m not easy in my mind about it.”

“About what?”

“About sending you. It’s an ugly business, Hooper, an ugly and dangerous business, and I can only hope for a speedy resolution to it. Yes, my dear fellow, you may laugh, but I give you my word that I shall be very glad to have you back safe and sound at Houston Street once more.”

Chapter 5

To the Wolverton Ranch

{In which three men undertake a journey to the Croton Breaks of Dickens County.}

Here, on the very eve of our tale turning westward from Fort Worth across the expanse of West Texas that was only until recently the domain of the bison and those who hunted it, we must leave off the serialization of the novel, for literary rights go only so far.

We hope you have enjoyed the journey to date and will stop by to procure a hardcover copy of the novel!

IN THE RUGGED, DESOLATE CROTON BREAKS OF WEST TEXAS a spectral creature with a six-inch pawprint has spooked livestock of late. When British-born cattle baron Basil Wolverton is found dead outside his own ranch gate, cowhands and nesters alike whisper of an ancestral curse, the dire wolf of legend.

Sir Basil’s executor Wesley Barlow knows what he must do: catch the next train for Fort Worth, where consulting detective Derrick Miles and his assistant Dr. Frank Hooper are his best bet to figure out whether there’s been a crime committed . . . or some diabolical force at work.

If the story sounds familiar, it should. Transporting the Sherlock Holmes classic The Hound of the Baskervilles to Dickens County, circa 1891, author Will Brandon reimagines Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s thrilling tale with a Texas twist on a murderous beast, a fugitive outlaw, greed and grit, affairs of the heart, and a landscape yet untamed. In the popular tradition of serial publication The Texas Spur has obtained exclusive rights to run excerpts of this new novel, timed with its revised April 2021 release in book form.

In the heyday of Charles Goodnight and Quanah Parker—and one of the craftiest stalkers on the frontier—The Wolf Hunt traces Hooper’s solemn pledge to solve the vexing case with which Miles has entrusted him and protect the Wolverton heir in his charge. But will bullets and iron bars bear out against the embodiment of evil? In this high Victorian adventure, the answer is anything but elementary.