by Tor Seidler
I alighted on a trail marker and introduced myself for the first time. Not even a mangy critter like Sully could resist chortling at my name.
“Guess the folks didn’t put a lot of thought into it,” he said.
“Well, my mother’s Mag,” I said, and switched the subject to Montana.
He must have been starved for company, for he chattered away, telling me all about how he’d ended up there.
After his release from the wolf compound years ago he’d joined a pack known as the Crystal Creek pack. He’d been at the bottom of their pecking order and got the poorest cuts of meat, but what really bugged him was being assigned to babysitting duty after the alpha pair whelped a litter of eight in the spring. The pups were relentless. Every time he was about to catch some sleep, one of them would jump on his back or nip his tail. He decided life on his own couldn’t be worse than this, so he took off. But unlike the first time he dispersed, up in Canada, he didn’t have Blue Boy with him. For a full year he skulked around Yellowstone as a lone wolf, barely surviving. Then he chased a deer into the Beartooth range, and through a cleft in the mountains he caught a glimpse of the ranching country to the north. Montana.
His first taste of livestock was sheep. It was tasty, though getting through all that wool was tedious. Cattle not only made an easier meal, but they were absolutely delicious. In no time he was hooked on beef. For over a year he lived in the foothills and made forays into the grazing land. But the rancher he was poaching from finally spotted him and got off a clear shot as the wolf cut across a snowy pasture. That was how Sully lost an ear. He couldn’t even lick his wound, and having no one to nurse him made him bemoan his solitary state. So he ventured back down this way to try his luck with another pack. It was a surprise to come across one of Blue Boy’s scent posts. He’d figured his brother had either gone back to Canada or died trying.
“I can’t think why he was so ungracious,” Sully told me.
I could, but I didn’t mention that Blue Boy had confided in me. “Where are you heading now?” I asked.
He ducked his head and pawed his ear wound. “You seem like a solitary bird,” he said. “Ever get sick of being on your own?”
This question ruffled my feathers. Didn’t he realize I was part of his brother’s pack? But then I guess it was an unusual situation. And did the wolves really feel that I was, now that I was of no use to them?
Sully went on without waiting for an answer. “Since Lamar doesn’t want to go up to Montana, I’m sticking to my original plan. I heard there’s a pack on the other side of Hellroaring Creek.”
I followed him along the hiking trail till it led us into a grove of leafless cottonwood trees. First we heard Hellroaring Creek, then we saw it. It was so swollen and choc-a-bloc with tumbling chunks of ice that Sully decided it would be too much trouble to cross. Not far off was one of the log cabins human campers use in the summertime. Creeping under it, Sully spooked a hedgehog, but he let it waddle off, probably figuring a couple of mouthfuls weren’t worth a snoutful of needles.
By then the sun was well off to the west, and I was about to go back to check on Lamar when wolves started howling across the river. Sully came out of his hiding place and howled back. The wolves gave him a cordial-sounding acknowledgment. Sully followed the hiking trail upstream and found a wooden bridge across the torrent. A scouting party of wolves met him on the other side: two males and a female. The female was about his size, the males a bit bigger, though neither looked like an alpha.
“I was wondering if I could join up with you,” Sully said, his tail between his legs.
“You look a little the worse for wear,” one of the males commented.
“It must be hard to hunt with only one ear,” said the other.
“I got a fox just this morning,” Sully said.
“Fox,” the first male said contemptuously.
“Give me a chance,” Sully said.
The three wolves exchanged glances. I must admit I winced as Sully got down on his belly and groveled, his one ear flat against his skull.
“Well, pups are coming soon,” the female said. “How do you feel about babysitting?”
“Oh,” Sully cried, looking up happily. “I love pups!”
15
WHILE SULLY WAS INGRATIATING HIMSELF with this new pack, I heard the unmistakable roar of a mountain lion back to the east. I thought of Lamar, all on his own, and shot back in that direction.
It turned out Lamar wasn’t in trouble. But his coyote friend was. A pair of the big cats had cornered Artemis in a box canyon on the east side of Druid Peak. I think I speak for all birds when I say cats are despicable, and mountain lions are the biggest ones in this part of the world. Like all cats, they enjoy nothing more than toying with their victims, and that’s just what they were doing with poor Artemis, closing in on her little by little while she tried in vain to scale the canyon’s sheer back wall.
I zoomed to the rocky knoll to alert Lamar. He wasn’t there. I gave Slough Creek a fly-by, but Lamar hadn’t rejoined the pack. He wasn’t over by the hot springs, either.
Eventually I spotted him up on Specimen Ridge. I landed near him in a charred pine. But as I looked down at the handsome young wolf I realized I didn’t want him torn limb from limb, and I decided to keep my mouth shut about Artemis. Against one mountain lion, he might have stood a chance, but not against two.
He didn’t greet me very cheerfully.
“What’s the matter?” I said.
“I can’t find a thing for her, Maggie. There’s so much melting snow—all the scents are washed away. I saw a bear. I think he’d just woken up from his winter nap. But I doubt Artemis likes bear.”
“Mmm,” I said, doubting Lamar could fell one.
He asked after the pack, and I told him that the buffalo meat and the warming weather were speeding his father’s recovery remarkably.
“How’s Hope?” he said.
“She seems back to a hundred percent. And she has Frick, of course. It’s good to see Frick happy. And your mother’s getting bigger and bigger. It won’t be long.”
“You haven’t seen Artemis today, have you?”
I wished he hadn’t asked that. “This tree suits me, don’t you think?” I said evasively.
“How’d it get so black?”
“The wild fires of ’88, I imagine. They’re legendary. They say half the park went up in flames.”
“You’re kidding! Imagine if Artemis got caught in a fire! I’d kill myself.”
I shot a guilty look toward Druid Peak. “You know, I might have seen a coyote,” I said, figuring the miserable cats had probably finished their cruel work by now. “Over in that box canyon by Druid Peak.”
“Was it Artemis?” he said eagerly.
“I’m not sure,” I fudged. “But a couple of mountain lions seemed to have cornered—”
He was off before I could finish my sentence. I flapped after him, wondering if I should have kept my beak shut. If the mountain lions had made a meal of Artemis, Lamar would be inconsolable. If the merciless cats ate him, I would be.
When we got to the canyon, the cats were still at their sadistic business, poor Artemis still trying to claw her way up the cliff. Every time she tumbled back, shivering and soaked to the skin, into the wet snow at the foot.
Lamar had heard his father’s call of the chase many times, but I’m pretty sure this was the first time he attempted one. Reverberating off the canyon walls, it sounded almost as deep and guttural as Blue Boy’s. The mountain lions wheeled around in surprise. Lamar’s neck arched. His ears, tail, and hackles shot straight up, and he snarled, narrowing his eyes to slits.
The surprise in the mountain lions’ eyes quickly turned to menace. The smaller of the two probably outweighed Lamar by fifty pounds. As they started to move in on him, I squawked, “Run!” The obstinate young wolf held his ground, his tail flying high.
Then I heard a muffled drone.
Of all wingless species, human b
eings are the only ones who’ve managed to do something about their bird envy. They can actually get off the ground. But only in deafening, ungainly machines. I’d always considered these contraptions loathsome. Birds can get sucked into the engines and turned to mincemeat. But as one of these planes rumbled by overhead, probably on its way to the nearest airport, I was grateful for it. Like all cats, mountain lions are skittish beasts. One of the pair bounded away on Lamar’s right, the other on his left. Lamar whirled around, but the cats had gone.
I was perched on some scree under the canyon’s north wall. Now I flew over to a lichen-covered rock next to Lamar. He was panting as I’d never seen him, his sides heaving.
“It goes to show that humans aren’t all bad,” I said.
Once he caught his breath, he said:
“You’re the one we should thank.”
“We?” I said.
He turned to the back of the canyon. But there was no sign of Artemis. As soon as the plane had distracted her torturers, she’d fled for her life.
16
I FOLLOWED LAMAR BACK TO the knoll in the waning daylight. I expected him to race to the top, but he curled up under a spruce near the bottom.
“Don’t you want to see if Artemis is around?” I said.
“I can’t go up there,” he said. “I never found her any food.”
Evidently he didn’t think facing down two mountain lions on her behalf made up for this. I considered spending the night in the spruce, but Sully’s comment about my being “solitary” gave me a hankering for the pack.
Though there were vestiges of the sunset in the western sky when I landed in my aspen, the wolves had turned in. Blue Boy was sleeping by himself, which made me think Alberta had gone into the den to get ready to whelp her litter. Frick and Hope were curled up close by. Raze, Lupa, and Ben were farther up the slope. I wondered if any of them, even Blue Boy, had noticed that I’d been gone since midday. I was afraid they’d started thinking of me as little more than a scavenging hanger-on.
Despite all the flying I’d done that day, I was too fretful to sleep. And when I finally stuck my head under my wing, the sound of voices soon made me pull it back out. Raze and Lupa had come down the slope to talk in private. Their utter obliviousness to me didn’t lift my spirits.
“Just yesterday you said you felt sorry for her for being so puffy and bloated,” Raze said.
“But in a month she’ll be coming out looking radiant,” Lupa complained, “with a new litter in tow.”
“Alberta could never look as good as you,” Raze said.
“That may be, but I’m sick of her always taking precedence.”
“Then let’s do like we talked about. Ben’s on board.”
“If we leave to start a new pack, Blue Boy’ll come after us and tear us to shreds.”
“If he tries, I’ll finish what that buffalo started.”
“You really think you’d stand a chance, even with that wound of his?”
For a while there was only the burbling of the creek.
“We’ll wait till the pups come out,” Raze finally said. “He’ll be in such a good mood, he won’t care.”
“He’ll expect us to help feed them.”
“Okay, when the pups join the hunt. Then he won’t miss us.”
“But you said this den site was your birthright. Where are we going to find such a perfect spot?”
If I hadn’t been feeling sorry for myself, I might almost have felt sorry for Raze. For every answer he gave, Lupa had a retort.
They finally retreated up the slope to sleep, and I dozed off. In the morning I heard a magpie joining in with the thrushes and nuthatches across the creek to welcome the new day. Since coming to Yellowstone, I’d made a point of avoiding the local magpies, but I flew over now and struck up a conversation with this one, who was perched in a lodgepole pine. He was quite handsome, if a little young, and single. He even had a nest—an abandoned one he’d happened upon nearby.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to see it?” he said.
“Why do you think that?”
“Birds say you’re standoffish.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Oh, good—I think you’ll like it,” he said eagerly. “I’ve done a lot of decorating.”
“Decorating” should have set off warning bells, but I flew with him to see the nest. It was appalling. He was a worse trash collector than Dan. The floor was littered with bottle caps and paper clips and foil wrappers. On the walls were a rusted Smoky the Bear pin, an empty trail-mix bag, and a wilted 3-D postcard of Old Faithful. Like most magpie nests, his was hooded, and a laminated park-ranger badge hanging from the ceiling by a lanyard twisted slowly in the breeze.
“Isn’t it great?” he cried. “All it needs is some eggs!”
“A pity I’m too old for that sort of thing,” I said.
His face fell. It wasn’t true, but I would have rather had my tail feathers plucked than be stuck egg sitting for weeks on end in that junkyard.
When I got back to my aspen, the wolves were up. The buffalo meat was almost gone, and Blue Boy, looking almost like his old self, ignored Frick’s suggestion that he rest up another day. Hope went on the hunt too. I stayed behind with Frick, thinking that without Hope or Lamar he might appreciate my company. But he seemed content to sit watching the sun rise in the robin’s egg blue sky.
When the hunters returned, Blue Boy set a piece of elk meat in the den entrance for Alberta and lay down to digest the meal he must have had at the kill site. I wanted to tell him what I’d overheard last night, but since he didn’t so much as glance my way I kept my beak shut. I stayed in a sulky mood till late afternoon, when I flew over to the knoll. Lamar was in his usual spot. I asked after Artemis.
“Haven’t seen her yet, but at least I got her something,” Lamar said, nodding at an offering in the cave. “Thanks again for yesterday, Maggie. If those horrible cats had gotten her, I don’t know what I would have done.”
Sully was right about Lamar having good manners. For what are good manners, after all, but making others feel better? Grateful as I was to feel of some use, however, his focus understandably wasn’t on me. I watched the top of the cliff along with him. The sun set, and a gibbous moon rose—and finally Artemis appeared. Her fur was a dusty gold in the moonlight, and her eyes, so panicked yesterday, sparkled playfully as she sniffed the air.
“It’s mule deer,” Lamar told her. “I got him by Soda Butte.”
“I never tried mule deer,” she said.
“It’s a thigh. I hope you like it.”
“Would you mind . . . ?”
Lamar trotted away. Once he was on the far side of a gulch, Artemis circled down off the cliff and sampled the deer. By bird standards her table manners were crude, but compared to wolves, she ate primly. When she finished, she hiked back up to her perch, and Lamar returned to his previous spot.
“What do you think?” he said.
“Well, it’s filling,” she said. “Oh, wow! Did you catch it?”
“By Soda Butte, like I said.”
“I meant that shooting star.”
I searched the night sky along with him. “Darn,” he said.
“It was a beauty,” Artemis said. “Oh, and you won’t believe what I saw this afternoon.”
“What?” Lamar said.
“An osprey dropped a fish, and a bear grabbed it in midair.”
“I thought osprey never dropped fish.”
“They never do. It was unique.”
Lamar turned my way and said in an undertone: “What’s ‘unique’?”
“Something that happens only once,” I said.
Artemis added something, but too softly to make out.
“Excuse me, Artemis?” Lamar said.
“I said, ‘Like a wolf saving a coyote from mountain lions.’ ”
“Oh, but I’d do the same thing if it happened again.”
“Well, let’s hope it remains unique.”
With that, Artemis disappeared.
“I don’t think ‘filling’ means she liked the mule deer much,” Lamar said with a sigh.
“I’ve heard more ringing endorsements,” I said.
“Vole’s her favorite. I’ll try to catch her one tomorrow.”
I didn’t find out if he succeeded. Though Lamar made me feel welcome, I sensed that three was a crowd on the knoll.
I returned to my usual routine, hanging out in my aspen and accompanying the pack on the hunt. It should have been a joyful time. Herds of elk and pronghorn had migrated back up into the valley, which was turning greener by the day. And a few days later the sound of newborns could be heard from the den: at least four different yaps. But with no Lamar around, and Frick so content, and Blue Boy so focused on the den, I felt more useless than ever.
One morning Blue Boy got up with the sun and padded down the hill. I figured he wanted a drink from the creek, but he stopped under my aspen and looked up at me.
“Have you seen him?” he asked.
“Who?” I said—though of course I knew.
“Lamar.”
“Not lately.”
“He just took off—not even a good-bye. Wolves don’t usually disperse till after they’re two, you know. Why do you think he did?”
“You don’t have any ideas?”
Blue Boy sniffed. “He did question the way I treated my brother . . .”
“Don’t forget how devastated he was when we lost Rider. He’s a sensitive wolf.”
“Sensitive wolf,” Blue Boy said, spitting out the words. But then he sighed. “If he’d just taken off like a normal hotheaded kid instead of sticking around to make sure . . .”
“You had that buffalo to tide you over,” I said, finishing his thought. “Do you miss him?”
Blue Boy didn’t reply.