Firstborn (17 page)

Blue Boy lunged at them, smacking his snout against the bars. The humans jumped back.

“What a beast!” Furry Face said. “I shouldn't have let you talk me out of killing him.”

“He's magnificent,” said Golden Hair.

“He is something, but he has to be destroyed,” Furry Face said. “What's the point of prolonging it? If we let him go and he heads north again, that rancher could get our funding cut off.”

“We agreed we have to be sure it's the right wolf. The rancher said he just shot him. That wound's not fresh.”

“He said the wolf was blue. And his tracker put him at Slough Creek.”

“But we brought down
two
blue ones from British Columbia. Remember the big one that dug his way out?”

“He got killed up on the Montana-Idaho border.”

“That's what we decided because—wait, Brian, look! He has no collar.”

“Good grief. You're right.”

“Check the tracker.”

I stayed put as Furry Face passed by me on his way out of the garage. He ducked into one of the trailers. Soon he came hurrying back.

“Unbelievable,” he said. “There are still four by Slough Creek.”

“We've got the wrong blue wolf,” said Golden Hair. “Aren't you glad we used the tranquilizer?”

If the only wolves they'd put tracking collars on were the original ones from Canada, the four had to be Alberta, Frick, Lupa, and Sully. They must have been able to follow Sully's trek to and from Montana. But while they realized they'd tranquilized Blue Boy by mistake they decided not to set him free, reasoning that if there were
two
bluish wolves out there it would make sense to keep this one locked up till they got the cattle killer, to prevent another mix-up.

“Want to move him to one of the pens?” Golden Hair said.

“It'll be a lot easier to leave him in the cage,” said Furry Face. “I can drive him back over there and release him after I track down the culprit—first thing tomorrow. Live ammo this time. There can't be
three
blue wolves.”

“I'll grind up some of that sedative in this guy's food to calm him down.”

Furry Face went off into the A-frame, Golden Hair into another of the trailers. Golden Hair soon came back with a bowl of some kind of chopped meat and slid it through a flap under the door of Blue Boy's cage. She flicked on a garage light before pulling the door down behind her.

I wished she'd left the door open. Now I couldn't clue Blue Boy in on the humans' conversation, which I knew he hadn't understood. And though the door had a window in the top panel, I wasn't a hummingbird and couldn't hover outside looking in. The best I could do was hop up onto the four-wheeler's roll bar and watch over him through the pane of dirty glass. He gave the bowl of food a contemptuous sniff but didn't eat any. And though he barely had room to turn around in the cage, he kept twisting this way and that. As the daylight waned, he got more and more agitated. I knew he was thinking about the den full of newborns he was responsible for feeding. The darker it grew outside, the more vividly I could see him in the lit-up garage. One of his deep-throated howls might have attracted the humans' attention, but he didn't howl—he just kept squirming around. Then he pressed himself against the back of the cage and launched a vicious attack on the bars. It was a gruesome spectacle, and I wanted to look away, like when he'd fought Raze's father. But I couldn't. I squawked for Blue Boy to quit. He kept at it in a blind fury. Then I thought I saw a tooth fly out of his mouth, and in my horror, I threw myself right into the window. But whether or not this distracted him from his self-destruction, I couldn't say, for I fell to the ground in a daze.

THE SQUEAK OF A SCREEN
door brought me around. It was early morning, and Golden Hair was coming out of the A-frame. Righting myself on the hard-packed dirt, I shook the dust off my feathers and scuttled out of her way as she approached the garage. When she lifted the garage door, she let out a gasp.

“Brian!” she yelled. “The wolf—I think he's dead!”

I made a clumsy takeoff and managed to swerve by her and make a pass over the cage. I caught only a glimpse of Blue Boy, but it was enough. He was lying in a crimson pool, his beautiful blue coat smeared with blood and bits of chopped meat. Near the tipped-over bowl lay one of the glorious incisors he used for ripping out elks' windpipes. In a moment, Furry Face came running into the garage, and I flapped awkwardly away.

As I flew out of the compound, I knew I should go back to the den site to tell the others the dreadful news, but I had to land in a lodgepole pine and collect myself. I was having trouble breathing. I couldn't believe that magnificent wolf who could shoot through forests and bring down creatures three times his size would never move again. It seemed so terribly wrong, a crime against nature.

When the sun rose over the treetops, I set out for Slough Creek. I couldn't fly quite straight, so I aimed a little left of where I wanted to go.

Once I got to my aspen, I saw that Raze, Lupa, and Ben were up near the top of the hill with their heads together. I couldn't hear what they were talking about, but I could hear the whine of pups from inside the den, and Frick and Hope conversing in low tones near the entrance.

“I shouldn't have told her,” Frick was saying.

“It's throwing her nursing off, no doubt about it,” Hope said. “But you couldn't keep it from her.”

It sounded as if they'd told Alberta, who must have still been in the den, that Blue Boy had been killed. So at least I was spared having to break the unspeakable news.

“I always thought he was invincible,” Frick said. “Utterly invincible.”

“It doesn't seem real,” Hope said bleakly. “Do you suppose Uncle Sully's right, that they were actually after
him
?”

“It would be quite a coincidence otherwise, him showing up and Blue Boy getting shot the very next day. I heard him slink off in the night.”

“He must feel awfully guilty. I wonder where he went.”

So did I. I cared about a tenth as much about Sully as I did his brother, but it didn't seem right not to warn him that Furry Face could track him by his collar and was coming after him with real bullets. I was so cast down that I hadn't even noticed what a glorious spring day it was, but as I flew a little crookedly out over the valley it was impossible not to. The river, surging with snowmelt, was almost as blue as Trilby. The trees on the banks were dusted a green so pale it was almost yellow, and the antlers of the young bucks were sheathed in ruddy velvet. I found Sabrina and Audubon chatting by the bank of the pond. Sabrina hadn't noticed any wolves that day, but Audubon had seen one heading toward Buffalo Creek.

“Did he have a bluish tinge to his coat?” I asked.

“Sorry, didn't notice,” Audubon said. “All wolves look the same to me.”

I hadn't seen Sabrina since fall, so she had to tell me about her winter down south before I could head off toward Buffalo Creek. On this side of the woods that hid the creek I spotted a wolf moving through the tall grass. From a distance only his tail and the top of his head were visible, but I could tell it wasn't Sully, for the wolf had both his ears. As I got closer, I saw it was Lamar. From the spring in his step I knew he hadn't heard about the shooting.

“Hi, Maggie!” he said as I landed nearby. “Have you seen any voles?”

“Sorry, no,” I said.

“I saw a shrew, and a garter snake, but I wanted to get Artemis her favorite today. Last night we talked for hours!”

I wasn't sure I wanted to be the one to tell him that while he'd been enjoying his coyote friend's company, his father had been killing himself against the steel bars of a cage.

Lamar trotted on into the woods, found the creek, and had a good slurp. I took a little drink myself and then fluttered up into one of the cottonwoods. With his thirst quenched Lamar sniffed at a cluster of tiny purple flowers by his feet. Suddenly his ears flattened, pressing outward, and his muzzle twitched. Across the creek a grouse burst out of a bush and shot up through the budding trees.

A one-eared wolf came slinking along the opposite bank, his head low to the ground, his feet making squishing sounds in the wet mat of last year's leaves.

“Hello, Uncle,” Lamar said.

“Lamar!” Sully exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Hunting voles.”

“You like
vole
?”

“It's for a friend.”

Sully cast a glance over his shoulder, then gave Lamar a baleful look. “I'm sorry about your father,” he said.

Lamar stiffened. “My father? What about him?”

“You don't know? He got shot.”

“What?”

“Yesterday, on his way to the hunt.”

“He's not . . . dead?”

Sully hesitated. “I hate to carry bad news, but that's what Hope told us. She said the humans collected the carcass.”

Lamar looked thunderstruck. There was no point in telling them that Blue Boy hadn't been a carcass yet when the humans had collected him. For a long time the two wolves just stood with the water sluicing between them.

“What a wolf he was,” Sully said mournfully.

It seemed to take a while for Lamar to register his uncle's words. A flicker of surprise crossed his face. “You're sorry he's gone after the way he treated you?” he said.

“You mean sending me packing that time?” Sully sniffed. “I deserved it. He never told you how we parted years ago?”

Lamar shook his head. Sully told him how he'd helped dig the tunnel out of the pen in the compound and then refused to use it.

“Blue Boy needed my help to protect his family back up in Canada. But it was so cushy there, I wouldn't go. I'll remember the look he gave me till the day I die. I was always a lot smaller than him, but that morning I felt like a mouse. He never told you about the owl, either?”

Lamar blinked at him. “The one that got Rider?”

“Who's Rider?”

“My little brother.”

“I don't know about that. But when I was a pup, an owl grabbed me. I was heading up into the sky when Blue Boy made an amazing leap and clamped onto my hind leg. The weight of two pups was too much for the nasty bird, and he let us go.”

Lamar's jaw went slack. No doubt he was thinking he might have done the same for Rider. I thought back to that day, too, realizing now why Blue Boy had been so sure in identifying the owl.

“I never properly appreciated my brother,” Sully said. “But a couple of days ago he took me into his pack anyway.”

“He did?” Lamar said, stunned.

“Yes. And see how I repaid him.”

Lamar stared at him.

“The humans were after me, not him,” Sully explained. “I'm sure of it. I might as well have pulled the trigger myself.”

Lamar said nothing, but I had an idea what he was feeling. He'd left the pack because of his father treating his brother poorly, and now that very brother was singing Blue Boy's praises—eulogizing him. It's always disturbing to learn you've gotten things wrong, but gut-wrenching when it's too late to do anything about it.

“I'm sorry I ever came back down here,” Sully said, turning away.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

Sully glanced back, giving a loose shrug. “I don't know. Who cares?”

This seemed to penetrate Lamar's despondency. “Are you going back to where those cattle live?” he asked.

Sully shrugged again and gave the wound on his thigh a lick.

“You can come with me if you want,” Lamar said.

Sully looked at his nephew, his eyes softening for a moment. “I appreciate that, Lamar. But I'm afraid I have to say the same thing to you I once said to your father.”

A breeze rustled through the trees.

“What's that smell?” Lamar said, sniffing.

I thought I caught a whiff of human. However, Sully didn't seem to, for he started talking about the last time he and Lamar had met. “Remember where it was?” he asked.

“The barranca near the knoll,” Lamar said. “You'd caught a fox.”

“That's right. I passed through there this morning and saw some voles.”

“I looked there already.”

“Down in the very bottom. A regular convention of them. If I were you, I'd get a move on before it breaks up.”

I think Lamar was in such a state of heartbroken guilt over his father that for a moment not even the prospect of getting Artemis her favorite food could shake it. But before long, Sully's words sank in, and Lamar tore off through the woods.

“It's funny, that kid almost makes me wish I'd had pups of my own,” Sully said, watching him go.

I got another whiff of human. Soon I spotted Furry Face approaching stealthily through the trees.

“You better move it too,” I said. “The human's using real bullets.”