Wolf Stalker (4 page)

Whirling on them, Troy hissed, “Shut up! Something's happening over there.”

Loudly, Ashley asked, “Over where? What?”

“I said shut up!” He gestured across the creek to the meadow, where the grass was no longer green, but had turned yellow with the near arrival of autumn.

“What? Deer?” Ashley asked.

Troy shook his head. He dropped to his knees and crouched behind the fallen log. Following the direction of Troy's intense stare, Jack saw—wolves! Two of them. One black and one gray.

The four large mule deer and the younger, smaller one had seen the wolves, too. They started to move away, at first ambling slowly, then running faster as the two wolves loped diagonally across the meadow toward them. The deer circled while the wolves chased them, almost lazily, like sheepdogs herding a flock.

“Get on this side of the log and scrunch down,” Jack said softly to Ashley, pulling her belt until she toppled backward, almost on top of him. “Keep your head low,” he told her.

“I want to see!”

“You can see—just stay down. And keep quiet!”

The young deer hurtled across the meadow toward the steep hillside, changing direction as the two wolves bounded after it, separating it from the rest of the small herd. The wolves seemed to be playing with the deer, trying to scare it rather than zeroing in for a kill.

“I wish I had my binoculars,” Ashley whispered.

“I've got mine,” Jack murmured. “But you couldn't spot them—they're running too fast.”

With the wolves in pursuit, the young mule deer doubled back to race across the meadow, heading for the creek. Suddenly the black wolf broke away to chase the four adult deer once again as they sprinted around the trampled grass. Only the gray wolf kept after the young deer, which crashed into the creek, its eyes wide and white with fear.

The deer was heading straight toward where Jack, Troy, and Ashley crouched behind the log, as if humans—even three of them—were less threatening than one large wolf.

Jack picked up his camera. “Don't move a muscle,” he whispered to Ashley.

It took only seconds for the young deer to explode into the brush above the bank, right next to them. Jack tried to fire off a few pictures, but it was like trying to photograph lightning—the deer was just too swift.

Across the creek, the gray wolf stopped at the bank. After stepping gingerly into the shallow ripples that edged the creek, it paused and looked around. It almost seemed to be considering whether to follow the deer and get wet, or to forget the whole adventure and stay dry.

“Wow!” Jack whispered softly. “Look at him!”

The big wolf stood less than 40 feet from them. A black leather radio collar showed through the ruff of fur around his neck.

This was a young but full-grown male, a hundred-plus pounds of powerful muscle and thick gray fur.

Carefully, holding his breath, Jack raised his camera. At that slight motion the wolf snapped to attention, bouncing backward in surprise. For a brief moment the animal stood stiff-legged, staring straight at Jack, its yellow eyes gleaming. Then he pivoted and ran back across the meadow toward the rising hills. Loping halfway up the hill, he stopped, threw one brief, scornful glance toward Jack, and turned his attention to the other wolf, the black one, still running after the herd of deer.

Troy breathed, “That was—that was—”

He didn't finish saying what it was, but Jack understood, even though he couldn't have put words to it either. Nothing could adequately describe the thrill of seeing what they'd just seen, of being close enough that they'd actually been a part of it.

“Please, Jack, let me have your binoculars,” Ashley begged. “He's standing still now and I want to get a good look.”

“Okay,” Jack agreed.

Right then he was feeling so good he would have given just about anything to just about anyone. Elation filled him, because he knew he'd clicked the shutter at just the right second. Not only once, but three times. Three pictures that should turn out to be outstanding, of the gray wolf staring right into the camera with those intense yellow eyes.

Jack couldn't wait to get home to his father's darkroom. Not that he'd develop the film himself—the negatives were too precious to take chances with. He'd ask his father for help.

“I can't see anything,” Ashley complained as she swung the binoculars from side to side. “Yes, I do. Now I see something. A shirt.”

“A shirt?” Troy asked in disbelief.

Just then the gray wolf raised his muzzle high, stretched his neck, and howled—once, twice, three times—calling for his mate.

Before the last howl faded, a shot rang out. The wolf leaped into the air and arced forward as if to run, but when his front paws hit the ground, his legs buckled and he fell.

“What! Jack!” Ashley screamed.

Too horrified even to yell, Jack gasped as the animal struggled to his feet, staggered for a moment, and then limped awkwardly toward the shelter of the trees.

“Get down, you moron! That was a gun!” Troy shouted. He grabbed Jack by the back of the neck and pushed his face into the dirt. At the same time he tackled Ashley around the knees, knocking her to the ground.

“Quit it!” Jack sputtered. “Let me up!”

“Someone's shooting. Do you want to get hit?”

“He shot the wolf!” Ashley shrieked. “There he is! Get his picture, Jack.”

Jack scrambled up and clicked the shutter a couple of times, but it was useless. The gunman was too far away—at least a quarter of a mile—and camouflaged by branches and shadows.

“No good. He's gone,” Jack said.

Because he was still peering through the lens, it took him several seconds to notice Troy climbing down toward the bank. Not till Jack heard splashes did he realize what was happening.

“Hey! Where do you think you're going?” he hollered.

Not even turning around, Troy answered, “The wolf's hurt. I'm gonna find it.” Holding out his arms for balance, he skidded and slipped on the mossy rocks as he crossed the creek.

“G
et back here now!” Jack screamed. Ashley's eyes flashed with fear.

Troy's sneakers, with no tread left, couldn't get enough traction on the algae-covered rocks. He slid awkwardly and landed with both feet on the creek bottom. For a few seconds he wobbled, but he managed to stay upright, even though his jeans got soaked all the way up to the hips.

“Troy!” Jack yelled. “Come back!”

He might as well have saved his breath. By then Troy had reached the opposite bank and was clambering over the rocks that lined the creek. Once he gained dry ground, he turned and flipped a nasty hand gesture at Jack.

Then he began to run across the meadow toward the steep incline of the foothills, heading to where the wolf's last howl had been cut short by gunfire.

“Jeez!” Jack cried, furious. “Now what am I supposed to do?”

“Go after him,” Ashley said decidedly.

“OK. I guess I have to. You run back to the parking area and see if that ranger ever got there. Tell her what happened. Tell her to radio park headquarters for help.”

So he wouldn't have to carry it, Jack pulled on his parka and again slid both arms through both straps of his backpack. His boots had been coated with water repellent, but even so, creek water seeped in through the laces and eyelets as he threaded his way across the creek, trying not to slip. If he fell in when Troy hadn't, humiliation would add fuel to his anger, which was already nearly hot enough to choke him. He glanced back only once to check on Ashley; she'd put on her own parka and was zipping it up.

Jack climbed as fast as he could. The higher he climbed the harder his breath came until at last it exploded from his lungs—not from exertion, but from fright. He'd begun to wonder what he was walking into. The more he thought about it, the more scared he got.

There was a guy with a gun up there!

He could be anywhere! Maybe right that minute he was hiding in the pines with a high-powered rifle raised to his shoulder, pointed at Jack. In his mind's eye, Jack could picture a man, squinting into the rifle scope, his finger on the trigger….

A pebble rolled downhill. Panic bored into Jack's brain like a bullet. Whirling around, he searched the trees; was that the glint of a rifle barrel over by that rock? Or the shape of a man melting into those tree shadows on the right? With each step his fear mounted higher and gripped him tighter until he threw himself flat onto the ground and covered his head with his arms.

Lying there, he realized that his purple parka must stand out like a flashing beacon against the autumn-yellowed grass, so conspicuous that only a blind person could possibly miss it. His heart pounded. Was it better to get up and run, to lie still and keep a low profile, or to crawl for cover?

What cover? He was in an open area with no trees or brush or boulders nearby. Facedown, he stayed motionless until his heart slowed a little and he could hear more than the blood pumping around his ears. Wind pushed through the trees, making them shudder. Another gust of wind; it ruffled his hair like fingers. Then silence. Cautiously, he lifted his head and pushed himself to his knees.

As he did, on the ground next to him he saw the blood—bright, vivid red on the flattened grass where he'd been lying.

He raised his hands; a small amount of blood smeared one palm. He rubbed it against his jeans.

That must have been where the wolf fell before it struggled up again. Leaning forward on hands and knees, Jack stared down, trying to judge just how much blood had been spilled. As much as a cupful? More? How much blood could a wolf lose before it dropped, too weak to go on? Maybe the wolf wouldn't get too far. Troy must be following the trail of blood, and wherever it ended, when the wolf finally weakened and dropped, Jack would probably find both of them.

“Hi!”

“WHA—” Jack's heart lurched wildly into his throat; he couldn't even shriek. Caught totally off guard, he jerked so hard his teeth rattled.

“What are you doing on the ground like that?” Ashley asked him. “I've been watching you. First you were flat on your belly, now you're on all fours. You're acting really weird, Jack.”

Scrambling to his feet, Jack drilled his finger into her chest and yelled, “So just what the crud are you doing up here, sneaking up on me like that and scaring me to death? I told you to go back and get the ranger. You turn yourself right around and head down that hill. Now!”

“Forget it,” Ashley said.

“Forget it?” Jerking his fingers through his hair, Jack seethed. No matter how hard he tried to make people do what they were supposed to, they kept running straight through him as though he were nothing more than a ghost.

“Why didn't you listen to me?” he shouted. “Now I might never be able to find Troy. You didn't get help like you were supposed to and you're costing me all this time—you've got to go back and tell the ranger what's happening. I mean it, Ashley!”

She stared right back at him. “You're not the boss of me, Jack, even if you think you are. I want to help find Troy, too. Besides, you need me.”

“Need you?” Jack cried. “What do I need you for?”

Ashley crossed her arms. “To help track him, that's what. I read about it in a book, so I know how to do it.”

Jack leaned as close to her face as he could. “You read a book! Wow! So now you're an expert.”

“No, but—”

“Ashley, listen to me. If Troy makes it to a road, he can hitch a ride and disappear, and then Mom and Dad'll be screwed. Don't you get it? This is real serious trouble, Ashley. Big time.”

“You're right. Troy's getting away, and we're wasting time. That means we better get started.”

“Go back!” he thundered.

Anger began to spark behind Ashley's eyes. Jack knew how easygoing his sister was, how she usually let everyone else have their way while she tried to keep things smooth. But when Ashley was pushed, she could flare like a rocket. Now, leaning forward, fists tight, she pulled herself as tall as she could. “You don't ever give me a chance. At home you're always telling me what to do. I'm sick of it.”

Jack argued, “I'm the one who's responsible for you and Troy! I don't even know if I can find him now. I don't know if he'll come with me when I do.”

“Why should he? You've been mad at him ever since he showed up at our house.”

That stopped Jack cold. It took him a moment to stutter, “I have not been mad. When did I ever say anything?”

“Yeah, right.” Ashley had been standing downhill; now she moved around to the uphill side of Jack so their heads were even and their eyes were level. “Even if you don't say things out loud, people still know what you're thinking. Your face gets all scrunched up and you walk away and hide in your room. Troy's not stupid. He's had bad stuff happen to him, and he's all alone and you haven't made it one bit better. He won't listen to you, but he might listen to me.”

For a moment, neither one of them spoke. Ashley's breath came in little gasps, but her face stayed set and defiant. She was right, and Jack knew it.

“So do you want to keep yelling, or do you want us to go find Troy?” she asked.

Jack knew when he was defeated, but there was no law that said he had to give in gracefully. “Okay, fine. Since you're so smart,” he growled, “where should we start?”

“Over there, in the trees.”

“Any particular trees?” he asked sarcastically.

“Yes. Those particular trees.” Sounding just as flip, she jerked her thumb to the right. “I was watching Troy when he ran. In this book I read about tracking animals and people, it said to always pick out a landmark where you saw them last. See that big rock up there?” She pointed. “It's right next to a tree that's all brown and has one branch drooping all the way down to the ground—like maybe it was hit by lightning. That's where Troy went. I paid attention, when I saw him go, and I picked out that landmark. He ran right between the rock and that tree.”

Jack just stared at her.

“Once we get there,” she went on, “it'll be easy to follow his footprints. His shoes were soaked, remember? He's leaving wet tracks.”

Jack took a deep breath. It was time, now, to yield as gracefully as he could manage since his sister was making a lot of sense. “Okay. The sun's already down to the tops of the trees. We don't have much time. So let's go.”

“You go first,” Ashley said, giving him one of her big, generous smiles, because she'd won.

Even if she was his sister, Jack had to admit that Ashley was pretty smart. Just as she'd predicted, when they reached the rock next to the hanging branch, they saw that dampness had squeezed down from Troy's dripping jeans and waterlogged sneakers to mark his path. That wouldn't last too long, Jack knew. In the thin mountain air, Troy's clothes would soon dry out—they'd stop leaving damp traces in the dust. And as the sun kept sinking lower, shadows would begin to hide the wolf's blood spots that Troy must have been following: bright red drops would fade in the darkness, becoming almost invisible to the eye.

As if reading Jack's thoughts, Ashley said, “We'll look for bent grass and twigs. And places where stones were kicked out of the way—that's what the book said to do.”

Once they'd entered the gloom of the trees, Jack found himself lowering his voice to speak more softly. He still felt the prickly sensation that the man with the gun might be hiding in the shadows, stalking them. Baldheads, that Minnesota woman had called them, but that wasn't the real name. They dressed in black leather and wore high, shiny black boots and armbands, and shaved their heads to make themselves look even meaner. Jack shuddered. He sure didn't want to meet up with one of them in these woods. Twice, he made Ashley stand stock still, so he could listen hard for any unusual sounds, but except for the rustling of branches in the breeze, all was quiet.

“It can't be too hard to track things up here,” Ashley was saying. “Mom talked about how they're always tracking wolves, right?”

“That's different. They do that with antennas that pick up radio signals from the wolves' collars.”

“Like the antenna on our jeep?”

“Mmmmm, sort of,” he answered. “Except they look more like small TV antennas, the kind we have on our roof at home, only miniature. The rangers carry them around and lift them up—” Jack raised his arm to demonstrate. “Or else they fly over the park in airplanes and use special receivers to listen for radio signals.”

“Oh.” Ashley managed, easily, to keep up with Jack. She stayed right at his back and she wasn't even breathing hard, although they'd been moving pretty fast for about half a mile. “So how does it work?” she asked. “How can they tell where the wolves are?”

“Well, it's like—” Jack thought hard, trying to remember what he'd overheard when his parents talked about wolf tracking. “Each wolf's radio collar has its own frequency. It's like a special code. You know how when you turn on our car radio, each radio station has a number? They're all broadcasting different stuff, music or sports or news, from different places, but you can tune in lots of stations by moving the dial to the different numbers. So when rangers pick up a signal on their receiving antenna, they can tell which wolf it's coming from and where the wolf is. Get it?”

“Uh…huh,” Ashley said uncertainly.

“Anyway, stop asking questions now and keep watching for the blood drops.”

After a while the trees thinned out and they came to a mound of gray granite rock. Two and a half billion years earlier, the earth had convulsed and heaved up a massive mountain range in what was now Yellowstone. Over eons, from wind and weather, the rough mountains wore down. At the same time living things grew and then died, so that each season added layer upon thin layer of new soil. Year after year roots worked into cracks, grinding the granite into dust that became deep enough, over time, to nurture tall trees. Yet in other places like this one the bare rock remained, great slabs of it, rigid and unmoving, waiting for the earth to shudder in its next upheaval.

It would take Jack and Ashley too long to hike to the top of the mound of rock or to circle around it at the bottom, so Jack started across it, balancing easily, leaping across clefts and fissures. As the low sun bathed the mound with a warm yellow glow, he noticed three blood spots, about six inches apart, all in a line. He felt a surge of excitement. They were on the right track!

Behind him, Ashley clambered over the rocks like a mountain goat. “If I was a wolf, I'd hate to wear a collar. I bet they try to get them off. Jack, did you ever see those pictures of coyotes wearing bandannas around their necks? That's so dumb, because a real coyote could chew off a bandanna in about ten seconds—”

“Quiet!” Jack held up his hand. By then they'd reached the next patch of forest. Once more he strained to hear whether anyone was following them, although the farther they went, the less threatened he felt.

They stood in the near darkness, breathing softly. The pines seemed to sigh, but all else was still.

Suddenly, in the distance, they heard a howl. Wolf song! Was it the wounded wolf crying out? Then there were more howls. Jack tried to separate them, to count how many wolves might be out there, but one call would barely die away before the next one began.

Other wolves took up the song, yipping and howling, almost in harmony. Perhaps they were serenading the dying sun, or maybe they were talking, in wolf language, about their brother wolf who'd been shot.

They sounded nearby. His parents had told him that on the entire North American continent, no human being had ever been harmed by a healthy wolf. “Rabid wolves?—yes, maybe,” his mother had said. “Captive wolves?—that's another story. Wolves were never meant to live in captivity. But no healthy wolf in the wild in North America has ever killed a person.” Still…. Jack shivered as the howls seemed to surround them.