The Loop (45 page)

It was a sorry affair, on Christmas Day of all days, to look a gift wolf in the mouth, but he’d decided to leave the three collared ones till last and he was going to stick to that. Their turn would come.

He threw his second sack over the wolf’s head and roped its muzzle, so it couldn’t bite him. Then he sat astride it to pin it down while he loosened the snare. The wire was buried to the bone above the wolf’s left paw. He could see where the animal had gnawed at himself to get free. Another hour or two and he might well have bitten his own foot off. Lovelace had seen it happen before.

It took him awhile to pull the wire from the wound but he managed it. Then he untied the rope, stood clear and pulled off the sack. The wolf scrambled to its feet and fled into the trees, limping badly as it went. Just before it disappeared, it stopped and looked back at him for a moment, as if making a mental note.

‘Merry Christmas,’ Lovelace called.

The meat caches were untouched. There was still a chance the wolves might be back. He reset the snares, then took the dead wolf directly to the mine and sent her down the shaft to join her brothers.

Three dead, five to go.

That was two days ago. Since then, he’d checked the snares at dawn and dusk and each time found them empty. The place by now was too spoiled by his scent and it was time to remove them. He was on his way to do that, when he heard the music.

He stopped to listen and in that same moment heard the wolf bark and start to howl along with it. It was an unlikely duet for a twilit forest. Then he heard the boy calling the dog and sensed something was wrong.

Quite how wrong, Lovelace didn’t discover until half an hour later when he got near to the kill site and heard the yelping. It didn’t sound like a wolf and when he found it in his flashlight beam, it didn’t look like one either.

The dog had run into the same snare that had snagged the wolf pup two days ago. It must only just have happened for he was still flailing around like a thing possessed, tightening the wire on his paw. Then the ugly mutt saw him and started wagging its tail.

Lovelace quickly killed the flashlight. Likely the boy was already out looking for it and the tracks would lead him right here. If he was anywhere near, he’d already have heard the yelping. Maybe it would be best to get the hell out of it. But then the boy would find the snares and the whole damn thing would be blown. The wolfer cursed himself. He should never have risked using snares. Who’d have guessed he’d catch the damn dog?

Then he heard the boy calling somewhere in the forest below him. Peering down through the trees, he caught a glimpse of a moving flashlight. If the dog barked now, he was in trouble.

There was only one thing to do. He clicked the bindings of his skis and stepped out of them. The dog gave a little whine.

‘Hey, dog,’ he said, in the same gentle singsong he used when walking up to kill a trapped wolf. ‘There’s a good dog, now. There’s a good old dog.’

29

S
he looked for him as she came out of the gate behind the other passengers and saw him standing in front of the giant stuffed bear, exactly where Dan had been waiting when she had first arrived.

He was wearing his hat and jeans and boots, with the collar of his old tan wool jacket turned up, and it made Helen smile to herself that he looked every inch the young cowboy her sister had imagined. He stared right at her and for a moment didn’t seem to recognize her.

‘Luke?’

‘Hey!’

They walked toward each other and suddenly Helen had a flutter of nerves. She didn’t know whether to throw her arms around him or what. Perhaps it would embarrass him. They stopped and stood shyly facing each other, with the crowd streaming past. A couple beside them were kissing and hugging and wishing each other a happy new year.

‘Y-y-your hair’s gone all b-blond.’

She shrugged self-consciously and put a hand through it.

‘Yeah. It’s the sun.’

‘It looks nice.’

She couldn’t think what to say. It was already too late to embrace him, so she just stood there, grinning inanely.

‘Shall I t-take your bag?’

‘Oh, no, it’s okay.’

He took it anyway. ‘Is th-this all there is?’

‘Yep, that’s all.’

‘Shall we . . .?’

‘Yeah, sure. Let’s go.’

They didn’t say another word all the way to the parking lot.

The wind was whipping snow from the mounds left by the plow, spinning it in swirls between the rows of crusted cars. Buzz was in the front seat of the Jeep and when he saw her he started to go crazy. When she opened the door he almost knocked her over. She saw the bandage on his front paw.

‘Hey, dog, have you been messing with bears again?’

‘W-wolves.’

‘Are you serious?’

As they headed out on to the interstate, he told her about putting the opera on and all that happened afterward. Finally, he told her how he’d been following the tracks up into the forest with his flashlight when suddenly Buzz came limping down the trail toward him.

‘He was bleeding real bad and I figured the wolf must have b-bitten him. But I took him straight to Nar Thomas’s place and he said it looked like a wire wound. He said he reckoned Buzz had gotten himself caught in a snare or something.’

‘A snare? Do people set snares up there?’

‘Yeah, sometimes. P-poachers, folk like that.’

‘Did you find anything?’

‘No, I was g-going to have a look the next day. But it snowed in the night and by morning all the tracks were gone.’

He was about to go on, but then seemed to change his mind.

‘What?’ she said.

He shook his head. ‘Oh, nothing.’

‘Tell me.’

‘It was just that . . . Well, I g-got the feeling that night, that there was someone up there. In fact, once or twice lately, I’ve felt it.’

‘What do you mean? Who?’

‘I don’t know. Just someone.’

He changed the subject and told her how he and Dan Prior had gone flying and seen five wolves, including the three who were collared, feeding on a deer above the Townsend ranch. Dan had said the other three were probably there too, but they were deep in the timber, so it was hard to get a proper look.

‘Hey, and g-guess what?’

‘What?’

‘I applied to the University of M-Minnesota.’

‘You did? For the fall? Luke, that’s terrific!’

Dan and he had talked about it when they got back to his office, he said. The university had a web site and the two of them had sat in front of Dan’s computer and gone on a ‘virtual tour’ of the campus. They’d downloaded all the application stuff and Luke had sent it off. He’d almost finished writing a long piece about his wolf work and planned to send them that too.

‘Dan’s going to put in a good word for me with the people he knows in the biology department there.’

‘Aha. Pull a few strings, huh?’

‘Absolutely.’

She stared at him in silence for a few moments, thinking how good it felt to be with him again. He took his eyes off the road for a moment and beamed at her.

‘What are you grinning at?’ she said.

‘Nothing.’

‘What? Tell me.’

He shrugged and said simply, ‘You c-came home, that’s all.’

They were off the interstate now and heading west over the rolling white tundra. The sky was a crystalline blue. She thought about what he’d just said. She didn’t know where or what home was anymore. If it was about belonging, all she knew was that, at this moment, she felt she belonged here with Luke, more than anywhere else. The empty road stretched ahead of them and in the far distance she could see the snow on the mountains glinting pink and gold in the sun.

‘Luke, would you pull over for a moment?’

‘Sure, why? What’s the matter?’

‘There’s something I need to do.’

He drove onto the hard shoulder and stopped. Helen unbuckled her seat belt, then his, and then moved across the seat toward him. And she guided his face toward her with her hand and kissed him.

 

The new year baptized itself lavishly. For three weeks, it thawed and rained, then froze and snowed, then thawed and rained again. The forest roads transformed themselves into rivers of mud and the river, in its lower reaches, into a wide, brown ocean, divided by irrelevant fences and the meander of bare grey cottonwoods that traced its vanished banks.

Hope stood marooned, teased by a catastrophe that daily failed quite to arrive. The encroaching water bided its time just beyond the first buildings at the lower end of Main Street, deciding whether the last few feet were worth the effort. Doorways were packed ready with sandbags, while inside, carpets were rolled and things of value stowed upstairs or on the tops of cupboards.

Every few hours, Mr Iverson, the town’s self-appointed Noah, would drive down from the grocery store and set sail through the flood to check the calibrated flood posts down by the bridge. On sailing back, he would report, with his long face and voice of relished doom, that the water had risen another three inches, dropped another two, had risen another six. It was only a matter of time, he would say, shaking his head and walking away into his store; only a matter of time.

The town hadn’t flooded in over twenty years and because of the million dollars’ worth of culverts that had been installed afterward, it probably never would. But thriving in the face of adversity was a western tradition and Hope indulged it to the full. Every night, The Last Resort and Nelly’s Diner were thronged with heroes, each with some small triumph to recount: a stranded cow rescued, a neighbor helped, a child ferried through the flood to school.

Those who lived at the higher end of the valley had only the mud to contend with. There was enough of it, however, to keep most of them at home. Only the major logging roads were passable and in some places, even on these, you needed more than an average four-wheel-drive to avoid getting stuck.

Three times, J.J. Lovelace had ventured up into the forest on foot and on each occasion been forced to turn back. He spent days alone in his trailer, thankful of the rest.

He ached all over from his recent efforts. His joints seemed to set solid if he stayed still for any length of time and would crack like a dead branch when he moved again. He was tired. Painfully dog-tired. But try as he might, he couldn’t sleep. It seemed he’d forgotten how to. He would lie awake all night, fighting thoughts he’d rather not let into his head. During the day, he would often nod off, but whenever he did, his body would jolt as if warning him, as if sleep posed some kind of danger.

He’d never been much for reading. The only book he kept in the trailer was the leatherbound bible Winnie had given him when they got married. In the old days, he used to enjoy some of those Old Testament stories. Like poor old Job; or Daniel getting shoved in with the lions; or Samson losing his eyes and pulling down the temple on everyone. But now when he tried to read them, he’d get a few lines in and his mind would start to wander and he’d find himself reading the same thing over and over again.

Apart from cutting wood for the stove and forcing himself to eat and drink, the only thing that passed the time was carving his antlers. He’d done it for years. Winnie always used to say he could have been a famous sculptor or something. She’d had them on display all over the house. But he’d seen better in gift stores.

Elk was the best to work with. Sometimes he just carved buttons and belt buckles from the cross-section. But what he liked best was to use a whole length of antler and carve animals as if they were chasing each other along it: big ones at the base, like wolves and bears and elk, then getting smaller and smaller until, at the tips of the tines, it was just little bitty chipmunks and mice.

The one he was finishing now had taken him most of three weeks. It wasn’t one of his best, but it wasn’t too bad. All he had left to do was carve the name on the underside. He turned the lantern up a little and sat forward to get more light on it. It was only four o’clock but dark already and raining again too. He could hear it drumming on the tin roof of the barn and dripping from the trees onto the trailer.

An hour later he was plodding through the puddles toward the Hicks’ kitchen door. There was music playing inside. He knocked and waited and in a few moments the woman came to the door. She always looked a little shocked at the sight of him.

‘Mr Lovelace! I’m afraid Clyde’s not back yet.’

She obviously thought he’d come for the box of provisions her husband was picking up for him in town.

‘That’s not why I came.’

He’d wrapped the carved antler in an old rag and when he held it out to her she jumped, as though he’d pulled a gun.

‘Oh, what . . .?’

‘It’s for the boy.’

‘For Buck Junior?’

He nodded. ‘You said his birthday was coming up.’

‘Yes, it’s tomorrow. Why, that’s really so sweet of you.’

She took it from him. It was raining hard now.

‘Please, come in.’

‘No. I got things need doing. Just wanted him to have that.’

‘May I look?’

She opened the rag. He should have gotten some paper to wrap it in. She held up the antler. He could see she was thinking it was a peculiar kind of present for a baby.

‘Oh, it’s lovely. Did you do this yourself?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s just a . . . thing. Maybe, when he’s older. See, it’s got his name on it.’

‘Oh, that’s so pretty. Thank you.’

He gave her a nod and walked away.

 

Buck sat waiting in the driver’s seat while Clyde hauled the last of the hay bales from the bed of the truck and spread it out on the ground in front of a row of forlorn-looking cattle. The rain was beating on the cab roof and coming down so thick and fast that it sliced the beam of the truck’s headlights like a silver curtain.