The next week passed in a quiet fashion. Both Oliver and Black Elk stayed off their feet as much as they could but eventually things needed tending to around the tiny stead. Oliver started to run low on kindling and Black Elk ran out of edible greens within a few hobbles of his nest withing the first two days. It was far easier for Oliver to get around as Black Elk needed Mad Ann as a shoulder to lean on if he went much further than a few lurching steps.

As they hobbled back to the dugout one afternoon during the second week, each of them carrying an armload of fresh greens or kindling while Mad Ann dragged a small bundle of log polls, he had asked Black Elk how long he thought it would be before he could put weight on his leg again.

“Two moon cycles, three at the most.' had been his reply

“That long hu?”

“It is about the same for you with two legs.”

“Have you broken yer leg afor?”

“No.' Black Elk shook his great, antlered, head. 'I have treated many such wounds in the past. If they do not become swollen and begin to seep then this is how long it will be to begin the mending. I am lucky that the bone did not rip the skin. The A-ni-a-wi-e  can not run long on three legs.”

“Then yer some sort a doctor?”

“Doctor?' Black Elk reached down and took up the bundle of greens Oliver had been carrying. He and Mad Ann leapt up a small drop off in one tandem motion. They waited for Oliver to hobble around the obstruction, pull the ends of the logs Ann was dragging over the lip and rejoin them before handing back the bundle.

“Ya know, a medicine man? Some un who patches folks up when they get cut up or sick?” Oliver wiped his hands clean of the bark and dust before accepting the greens.

Black Elk limped for a few steps and then nodded.

“This is true.”

Mad Ann dragged the logs all the way to the front of the dugout before Black Elk detached the rope that held them to her saddle horn. They had begun construction on the new addition to the dugout once the smaller cuts in Olivers Leg had healed up. Although Black Elk had insisted that there was no rush Oliver had decided that they had already pushed their luck with the elk-man sleeping out in the open for this long. It was rare but cowboys would come through to the creek looking for strays or even sometimes on business with Oliver. Having some trigger happy cow puncher take shots at his admittedly odd friend was not something he wanted to risk.

The work was a little slower, even with the extra pair of hands, than it had been when he'd build his own dugout originally. Oliver had been the only one who could dig out the shape of the room from the hillside and, with having to be mindful of his stitches, he had kept himself to hauling out smaller loads when removing the dirt and rock. That which wasn’t big enough to use to build and reinforce the walls anyway. Once that was done Black Elk had been able to limp in and start to help. Neither of them could support the full weight of the logs on their own though and Mad Ann, for all the help she was, did not have thumbs. The treks back and forth from the areas where they could cut the right sized timber was also tiring. Black Elk could only handle a handful of trips before it wore him down and Oliver was usually running low himself by then.

They place the last of their cut logs that would form the base of the roof before the sun dipped low that evening. Now, even without the layers of dried grass, dirt and such on top it would at least keep out most of the weather and block whoever was inside from view. Black Elk limped inside using the wall to support himself. He had to duck his head low or the tines of his rack would scrape and catch the logs but otherwise it was a perfect fit. They spent the rest of their time, and what little was left of their energy, moving Black Elks dry grass nest into the nearly finished barn like room. Oliver finished it off by hanging the blanket he'd given Black Elk that first night at the dugout over the wider doorway. It was dark but cozy.

The next morning, after a late breakfast, a pair of cowboys rode up as if on cue. Black Elk had thankfully not come out of the barn yet so Oliver hobbled out to meet the men as they dismounted and hitched their mounts to the rails of Mad Anns paddock.

“Mornin' boys.' he said, recognizing one of them as a man called Rusty who worked the JA Ranch.

“Mornin Mr. Brooks. You've been buildin on I see.' Rusty said as he reached out to shake hands.

“Yep! That last freak blizzard we had a few weeks back really sent ol' Mad Ann out fer blood. Figured I'd builder that house she's always been nagin' me bout.”

The cowboys laughed, Mad Anns temperament was famous and Oliver was a life long bachelor as far as anyone knew. Once the laughter had died down Rusty set to business.

“What happened to yer leg, Mr. Brooks?”

“Had me a run in with a cougar up the canyon a ways.' he pulled up the leg of his pants to show them the stitches and healing scars.

“Is it dead?!' exclaimed the cowboy he didn’t know

Rusty smacked the slightly shorter man on the back of the shoulder with a serious glare.

“Of course it's dead,! If it wernt we wouldn’t be standing here bout to ask Mr. Brooks for a hand with our wolf problem.”

“He's good and dead. Got a couple of good licks in on me though. I've been cooped up here at the dugout for a bit longer than I'd like.' Oliver gave the younger cowboy who was rubbing his offended shoulder a sympathetic look. 'So the wolves been givin' you trouble? I aint heard them howlin' in a while now. Thought they might be up on the rim givin' y'all a time of it.”

“Yea, Mrs. Ader and Mr. Goodnight have been keepin us up on round the clock watches but we just cant seem to catch um.”

“So are y'all plannin' a hunt then? Or do ya just need me to track um down for ya?”

“It's a hunt Mr. Brooks and we'd be awful obliged if you'd give us a hand. We're hopin' to round up enough men before winter hits an' the beasts get hungrier.' Rusty fingered the wide brim of his hat

“Right, well I'm not in the shape for it now but come this fall I should be back on my feet. That'll give them farmers settlin out by Mr. Conners place a chance ta bring in their harvest too.' Oliver rubbed the short stubble of his two week old beard thoughtfully

Oliver and the cowboys talked details for a bit longer and then they mounted up and rode off to go talk to other folks in the area. He leaned against the face of his dugout as he watched them splash through the creek and out of sight. His leg was already complaining loudly from standing so long. Black Elk pushed the blanket aside and ducked out of the barn to stand, leaning against the door jam, with a raccoon dangling in the crook of his arm.

“Where did that thing come from?' Oliver asked incredulously as the coon glowered at him with a hiss

“He wandered in sometime last night. I believe he was curious as most of the gv-li are.' Black Elk shifted the raccoon and made a short barking sound, it chittered at him quietly and then fell silent, looking away from Oliver as if not looking at him would mean he was not there.

“Well we'll have more to worry 'bout than a grouchie ol' coon if what them cowboys said was true.' Oliver said, also endeavoring not to look at the raccoon.

“You are lucky this time. The wa-ya can be reasoned with. Not so lucky with the cat.' Black Elk scratched the raccoon a few times behind the ears and then set it down. It waddled off in the odd way that raccoons hu-rumph around.

“Luckier with wolves than the cougar? Are you pullin' my leg?”

“No.' Black Elk raised an eyebrow at Oliver as he made a face that clearly stated he did not understand the idiom. 'I am not pulling your leg. You are standing on it.”