by Tor Seidler
“Just what we needed,” Lupa said wearily.
“Do you think Father will be all right?” Hope said, hoarse with concern.
“Not for a while anyway,” Lupa said.
“Let’s just hope another alpha doesn’t come sniffing around,” Frick said.
Hope sucked in her breath.
“That could be problematic, huh?” Raze said thoughtfully.
“Very problematic,” said Ben, though I doubt he knew what the word meant.
“Do you think something to eat would help Father?” Lamar asked.
“The only food around is buffalo,” Hope said grimly.
But Lamar had experience catching smaller game. Though he’d done most of his hunting for Artemis by the creek, the notch was so chock-full of snow that he would have had to be a snowshoe hare to negotiate it now, so he headed along the wind-scoured ridge trail. I didn’t spot a thing as I flapped overhead, but wolves don’t have such long noses for nothing, and he soon caught a scent. He was weaving along with his snout to the ground when I let out a warning squawk. A strange wolf was standing in the trail ahead of him.
Lamar’s ears shot back in alarm. I dropped onto an icy rock to get a steadier look at the stranger. He was an adult male, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t the marauding alpha Frick feared. Even with a mantle of snow he was smaller than Lamar. He looked underfed—he had on a collar that was quite loose on his neck—and where his left ear should have been there was just a raw wound.
“Am I trespassing?” he said, his tail held low.
“You’re on our territory,” said Lamar.
“I thought I got a whiff of Blue Boy’s marking scent.”
“You know Blue Boy?” I said.
The stranger’s quizzical look reminded me that magpies didn’t normally consort with wolves. “Blue Boy’s my brother,” he said.
Lamar’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Name’s Sully,” the wolf said, giving himself a shake. His dusting of snow flew off, revealing a coat exactly the same bluish color as Blue Boy’s. This had to be the brother Blue Boy had called a traitor and a coward. But, of course, Lamar didn’t know that. And I couldn’t very well tell him in front of Sully.
“If you’re Blue Boy’s brother, you’d be my uncle,” Lamar said.
“If you’re Blue Boy’s son,” Sully said, “and by your size I’d guess you are. What’s your name?”
Lamar had gotten distracted by the ugly wound where the ear should have been, but when Sully asked again Lamar answered.
“Do you think your father would take another wolf into his pack, Lamar?” Sully said.
“It must be fate,” Lamar declared as a gust of wind blew snow across the trail. “We’re down to only four hunters. My father . . . your brother just got hurt.”
“Not badly, I hope,” Sully said.
“A buffalo got him with his horn.”
“Ouch.”
“Looks like somebody got you, too,” Lamar said. “Frick might be able to help you.”
Lamar led his newfound uncle back along the ridge. As we approached the den, Raze stood up and growled. Ben mimicked him, though his growl wasn’t very menacing.
“This is Blue Boy’s brother, Sully,” Lamar announced.
“What a ghastly wound,” Lupa said, making a face. “What happened to you?”
“A little accident,” Sully said.
Just as I landed in my aspen, Blue Boy emerged from the den. Injured though he was, he rose to his full height, his tail and ears going straight up.
“Hullo, Blue Boy,” Sully said. “It’s been a long time.”
“What do you want?” Blue Boy said icily, his yellow eyes slits.
“I was hoping maybe . . . Could I join up with you?”
Blue Boy snorted a plume of vapor into the snowy air. Sully flopped onto his belly, his ear pressed back flat against his head.
“Please?” he begged. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Lamar winced at the sight of his uncle groveling. As for Blue Boy, I don’t think I’d ever seen him look so contemptuous.
“Get out of here,” he snarled.
13
ALBERTA HAD NEVER COME OUT of the den, and as Sully slinked off into the blizzard, Blue Boy rejoined her, leaving behind a red splotch on the packed snow.
“Was that really our uncle?” Hope said.
“Hard to believe someone so spineless could be related to your father,” Frick said. “But judging by his coat, I’d say yes.”
“Mangy-looking beggar,” Raze said. “Good riddance.”
“Good riddance,” said Ben, like an echo.
“But couldn’t we use another hunter?” Hope said.
I’m not sure Lamar heard what the others were saying. He seemed to be in shock. The den was supposed to be off-limits now that he was grown, but he ignored the unwritten law and went in anyway.
It wasn’t a long visit, and he didn’t come out looking happy.
“Was that wolf our uncle?” Hope asked.
Lamar grunted.
“Why was Father so mean to him?”
Instead of answering, Lamar started pacing, much as Blue Boy had done the day of Lamar’s first appearance. As the sky darkened, the snow let up, and all the wolves except Lamar curled up for the night.
Eventually Lamar came down under my aspen. “You never met my uncle before, Maggie?” he asked quietly.
“No,” I said. “What happened in the den?”
He sniffed.
“What did you say to your father?”
“I asked if he had no fraternal feeling. He said it wasn’t my concern. I don’t understand it, Maggie. If Rider came back . . .”
He stared off to the northeast, the direction the owl had taken his little brother. I imagined his squeals of delight if Rider somehow reappeared, and saw how Blue Boy’s reaction to his little brother’s reappearance might seem heartless. Of course, he didn’t know what Blue Boy had told me about Sully refusing to go back to Canada to help protect his family. But I figured if Blue Boy wanted him to know about that, he would have told him.
Now Lamar started pacing under my tree. He wore a track in the snow. When a few stars started twinkling between dispersing clouds, he made his way slowly up the slope to where Frick and Hope were lying together.
“I wanted to say good-bye,” Lamar said.
They both sat up abruptly.
“You’re not leaving the pack?” Frick said, sounding shocked.
“You’re not even a year old yet!” Hope said.
Lamar gave them a steady gaze. “I think it’s time.”
“You’d leave with our father hurt and everyone starving?” Hope asked.
This must have made an impression, for Lamar walked a ways off and settled down for the night.
In the morning the sun came out, and so did Blue Boy. He looked a little wobbly as he stood outside the den, but his tail was proudly erect.
“You can hunt?” Raze said, eying him cagily.
“You mustn’t, Father,” said Hope.
“There’s no point in anyone going,” Lupa said matter-of-factly. “There’s only buffalo, and if Blue Boy can’t bring one down, no one can.”
“I know where we might find a more manageable one,” Lamar said.
Hope turned to him. “Where?”
“The hot springs. I heard buffalo sometimes go there to feed and get woozy from the gas.”
“You’re woozy from gas,” Raze said.
“Yeah, you’re woozy from gas,” Ben said.
But Blue Boy looked interested. “Where’d you hear this, Lamar?”
When Lamar hesitated, I said:
“From me. When buffalo come out of the steam, they’re as clumsy as ducks out of water.”
“Bird blathering,” Raze said.
Before I could retort, Frick got up off his scabrous rump. “Let’s go,” he said.
He spoke so crisply, it made me wonder if Hope’s company had given him a sho
t of confidence. Blue Boy actually followed him. Raze remained at the den site, as did Ben, but the rest of us went along.
When we got to the edge of the hot springs basin, Hope stayed behind with Frick and Alberta while Blue Boy, Lupa, and I followed Lamar into the steam. It was like going from winter to summer in a blink. The steam wasn’t quite as thick as last time, and creatures fell over themselves to get out of the wolf pack’s way—except for one. Munching on a mound of grass between two sulfurous pools stood a buffalo as big as the one who’d gored Blue Boy.
Lupa hit him first, landing on the beast’s neck a second before Lamar hit his flank. With a grunt of surprise the buffalo lifted his head and shook it, but without much vigor. Blue Boy, even in his weakened state, wasn’t far behind, going for the legs. The beast heaved himself a few steps forward, then let out a bewildered whinny and sank to his knees.
The throat was so shaggy Lupa had trouble locating the windpipe, but she did. The buffalo had barely gurgled his last when she dug into his midsection.
“Not here,” Lamar said.
Lupa looked up with blood drooling down her chin—the first time I’d ever seen her in disarray. She must have been truly famished.
“The gases,” Lamar said. “That’s what made him so sluggish.”
Blue Boy instructed them to tear off the biggest chunks they could and drag them out to the others. This required numerous trips. By the last, the three of them had to sit and gulp down breaths of the fresh air before they were clearheaded enough to tackle the task of dragging the butchered buffalo home. Blue Boy’s wound had reopened, and Alberta was so fiercely against his doing more work that he actually obliged her, letting Frick take his place on the next leg. It was a toilsome, messy job. By the time the wolves got the meat to the whelping den, they were soaked with blood.
At the sight of the haul Raze retreated churlishly to the hilltop with Ben shuffling behind him. Spiteful as Raze was, I felt a prick of pity for him. Being proven wrong is a bitter pill—especially on an empty stomach, with the smell of fresh meat in the air.
Blue Boy gave Alberta the most succulent hunk of meat and claimed the juiciest of the remaining pieces for himself. Lupa picked out a prime chunk. Hope tried to get Lamar to go next, but he waited till she and Frick had served themselves before joining the feast. I perched on the liver and took dainty pecks. It was sublime.
The pile of buffalo meat looked big enough to last us till the weather improved and elk returned to the valley, so I figured Lamar could now leave the pack with an easy conscience. But it was getting toward nightfall, and he’d barely swallowed his last bite when a full stomach and the grueling day knocked him out. Frick didn’t last much longer. Lugging the meat from the hot springs was the most exertion he’d put out since the trek from Idaho. Hope passed out too, her chin on Frick’s scarred haunch. Blue Boy kicked some snow over their provisions before curling up next to Alberta by the entrance to the den. Lupa sat eyeing the cuddly spectacle of Hope and Frick with disgust. But at moonrise her gaze shifted up the hill to Raze. He was awake, but he ignored her, so it surprised me when she grabbed a hunk of meat and carried it up the snowy slope.
14
LAMAR WOKE BEFORE THE SUN. Up the hill Lupa was sleeping by Raze, with Ben not far off, while the other wolves lay curled up around our new larder. Lamar picked out a juicy piece of buffalo meat, and I followed him to the rocky knoll. He left his offering in the shallow cave at the foot of the cliff and retired to his old spot.
In the course of the morning I got distracted several times: by the sun hitting the snowcapped mountaintops to the south, by the glint of a curved horn on a bighorn sheep on a smaller mountain nearby, by a flock of cranes flying by with their long, spindly legs pressed together behind them like rudders. But I don’t think Lamar’s eyes ever left the cliff top. The afternoon grew quite warm, and at one point I flew around to the back of the knoll and saw Artemis sitting up under her bough, sniffing the air. Not wanting to miss Lamar’s reaction when she made her appearance, I flew back to the other side. But she didn’t appear. Lamar kept his vigil till late that night, when he could no longer keep his eyelids from drooping shut.
Only then did Artemis show up. I wanted to wake Lamar, but the look the coyote gave me made me hold my tongue. She came down and ate about half the raw buffalo steak, then took the leftovers in her mouth and crept up to the sleeping wolf and deposited them beside him. It was an impressive act of courage.
At daybreak Lamar woke with a start. When he spied the piece of meat beside him, I expected a rebuke for not waking him, but instead he cried:
“Oh, Maggie, this is the nicest gift I ever got!”
That day was even warmer. A couple of simpleminded nuthatches chirped over and over about the Merry Month of May. You could hear trickling under the snow. But there was no sign of Artemis.
Early the next morning Lamar went off to hunt. He tracked a fox down into what Frick had taught us was called a barranca—a sort of ravine—but when Lamar caught up to the fox it was already half eaten.
“Thought I got a whiff of you,” Sully said, looking up from his meal. “Do you like fox?”
Lamar stared at his uncle in surprise. “I’ve never had any,” he said.
“It’s fairly disgusting but better than nothing. I’ll leave the rest for you.”
“Thank you, Uncle.”
Sully studied him for a moment. “You know, Lamar,” he said, “I like you. You’re polite.”
“Thank you,” Lamar said again.
“What are you doing off on your own?”
I was curious to hear Lamar’s answer. He hesitated a moment and said, “I’m taking a break from the pack.”
“Are you?” Sully said. “That’s brave. But life can be hard on your own, you know. Dangerous, too.”
At a sudden noise both their heads spun around, but it was just a hunk of snow plopping off the tree I was in.
Sully licked a bit of fox fur off the tip of his snout. “Since you’ve left the pack, why don’t you come along with me?”
“Where are you going?” said Lamar.
“Up north.”
Lamar looked to the north—he’d clearly learned his directions without the aid of a weather vane—but down in the barranca there wasn’t much of a view. “What’s up north?” he asked.
“The most delicious food in the world,” Sully said. “Wait’ll you taste it!”
“Elk?”
“Even better.”
Lamar looked dubious.
“It’s called cattle,” Sully said.
“Never heard of it.”
“They don’t live in Yellowstone.”
“What do they look like?”
“They’re big. That’s why I could use your help.”
“As big as buffalo?”
“Almost.”
“Did a cattle bite your ear off?”
“No, no.”
“What’s the cattle place called?”
“Montana.”
“If Montana’s so wonderful, why’d you come here?”
“Polite but full of questions,” Sully murmured. “I came down here because I missed my brother. He’s the only family I have. But the feeling doesn’t seem to be mutual.”
“I’m sorry for the way my father treated you,” Lamar said gravely. “It wasn’t right.”
Sully shrugged and said, “Well, come to think of it, you’re family too, aren’t you? What do you say? Want to see the Big Sky Country?”
“The Big Sky Country?” Lamar said, his ears twitching with interest.
“Montana,” I said. “But I wouldn’t advise it. The ranchers there have guns, and they don’t like wolves.”
“How would you know?” Sully said.
“I was born and raised there.”
Knowing Lamar, I figured the idea of a new place with novel creatures and a big sky would tempt him, so I was relieved when he heeded my advice and said, “Maybe another time.” Though, of course, it may have be
en the idea of leaving Artemis’s neighborhood that dissuaded him.
He and his uncle parted on good terms. Lamar took the remainder of the fox back to Artemis’s cave and retreated to his usual spot. Day turned to night with no sign of her. To keep himself from falling asleep and missing her again, he recited some bird lore, mostly picked up from me.
“Bald eagles aren’t really bald. Their heads are covered with snow-white feathers. Golden eagles are best avoided, but goldfinches are harmless. White pelicans have pouchy bills, though you don’t want to get too close on account of their fish breath. Ravens are even blacker than Raze, and smarter, too, though not as smart as magpies or crows. Warblers have good voices, though Audubon says his high range was better when he was younger. Sapsuckers are showy but no brighter than nuthatches. Seagulls aren’t particular. If there’s no sea around, they’ll use a lake. So will ruddy ducks and ospreys and scaups like Sabrina. Ospreys are excellent divebombers, but Peregrine falcons are faster. Mountain bluebirds are the color my eyes were when I was little. Now my eyes are more like a meadowlark.”
He didn’t mention swallows or owls, probably on account of the parts they’d played in Rider’s death, and to be honest, I wouldn’t have minded if he’d left out bluebirds. Once he got through all his birds, he started on lesser creatures. After that he listed the wonders he’d come across in Yellowstone, from geysers to mud volcanos. When he reached the end of his recitation, he started over.
By the third time through, we both started yawning.
I woke before him, at first light. Artemis had clearly come and eaten, for again there were leftovers not far from Lamar. They tempted me, but fond as I was of Lamar they were a little too close to his snout, so I flew off to the den site for a snack. The wolves were still in their energy-conserving mode, snoozing away, though I noticed they’d made quite a dent in the pile of buffalo meat. While I was taking a few pecks at it, Frick cracked an eye open.
“Blue Boy’s been asking about Lamar,” he said quietly. “Is he all right?”
I assured him that Lamar was fine.
Around midday I headed back to check on Lamar but got sidetracked when I spotted Sully. Despite the pretty picture he’d painted of Montana, he was heading west, not north. More surprising, he was on a hiking trail. The humans had made hundreds of miles of hiking trails in the huge park, and in a month or two they would be using them. But I’d never seen a wolf on one. Wolves like to blaze their own.