Wilder Boys (15 page)

“Good,” said the man, gasping. “Tie a big loop around the edge of this boulder with a bowline knot. Then toss the other end of the rope over that tree branch there.”

The boys immediately saw what the man was getting at, and five minutes later they had assembled a makeshift pulley.

“Okay, let's try it again,” Jake told Taylor. “One, two,
three
!”

They pulled on the rope.

“It's budging,” the man called. “Just a little more.”

“Harder, Jake!” Taylor shouted.

The boys redoubled their efforts. The branch of the tree creaked under the strain of the rope, but a second later the rock shifted and the man cried out in pain and relief, “I'm free!”

Jake and Taylor released the rope, and the boulder settled back with a dull thud. The boys hurried to the man, who now sat dazed, grasping his right forearm.

“Are you all right?” Taylor asked.

The man growled like a bear. “I'm alive, thanks to you boys, but I think I've got a broken arm.”

Even in the moonlight, Jake could see that the arm looked swollen and, despite the cold air, the man sweated with pain. “What can we do to help?”

The man grunted again. “I think you're going have to splint it for me. You know how to do that?”

Jake shook his head. “No. We didn't get that far in first aid.”

“Okay, then. You're going to need a straight, wide stick, about a foot long, and a few strips of cloth. You can tear up one of my shirts in the pack there.”

While the boys worked, they asked the man what had happened.

“I was tracking Felix with the antenna there,” the man
said, nodding to a smashed-up framework of wires and poles on the nearby ground.

“Who's Felix?” Taylor asked, holding the piece of wood firmly under the man's forearm.

“Felix is a wolverine,” the man told them. “One of about a dozen living in the Tetons–Yellowstone area. Anyway, he was on the move, and I was scrambling up those rocks, trying to keep up, when that storm moved in. Felix came straight down this steep slope, and I scurried down after him.”

“You mean during the hailstorm?” Jake asked, tying the second of four pieces of cotton cloth to hold the splint in place. The man winced as Jake pulled the knot snug.

“Yeah,” he continued. “I was scrambling down when a bolt of lightning hit right there above us. Set off a rockslide that knocked my feet out from under me. Next thing I knew, I was lying on my back, pinned under this boulder like the tail pinned on—or under—a donkey!”

“You're lucky those rocks didn't bury you!” Taylor told him.

“You got that right—thank God you showed up!”

Jake tied off the last of the splint and then, following the man's instructions, helped tie a sling with the rest of the spare shirt. The man tested it and murmured with approval.

“Not a bad field dressing. Maybe I should bring you guys along on all my tracking trips. Name's Skeet, by the way.”

The man held out his good hand.

Jake shook it. “Uh, nice to meet you.” Despite having
just saved the man's life, Jake felt reluctant to reveal his and Taylor's identities. For once, Taylor picked up on Jake's cue. To turn the attention away from themselves, Jake said, “You said you were tracking here. You were hunting the wolverine? To eat?”

The man chortled. “I don't think they'd taste very good. You ever seen a wolverine?”

The boys shook their heads.

“They're not much bigger than your buddy there,” he said, pointing to Cody. “But pound-for-pound, they're the strongest, fiercest animals in the mountains here. I'd take on a grizzly bear any day before I'd face down an angry wolverine.”

Looking at the man, Jake could imagine him tackling either one. In addition to his deely tanned face, he had long hair pulled back into a ponytail and a long salt-and-pepper beard. The man's muscles stood out from his arms and neck like steel bridge cables.

“Anyway,” Skeet continued, “the park service pays me to follow and collect data on wolverines in the area. The wolverines are about the most rare and endangered mammal in the lower forty-eight.”

“Endangered? How come?” Taylor asked.

“They used to be trapped and hunted. Now global warming is melting off a lot of the snowfields they need to survive. Anyway,” the man said, struggling to his feet, “enough about me. What are you two boys doing out here all alone?”

Again, Jake and Taylor glanced at each other, neither one responding. Skeet picked up on it.

“Okay, I get it,” he said. “But let me ask you this: would either of you object to a hot bath and a warm meal?”

The brothers broke into a grin, and Jake's stomach rumbled so loudly, he thought he could hear it echo off the walls of the cirque.

“That's what I figured,” said Skeet. “If one of you can carry my pack, I'll lead the way.”

While Taylor went back to the overhang to retrieve their own packs, Jake found Skeet a good walking stick and gave him a painkiller from his first aid kit. Then Jake hoisted the man's pack. It was heavy—maybe fifty pounds—but a lot more comfortable than the flimsy things he and Taylor had been hauling around. When Taylor returned, the group set off following a small stream toward Jackson Lake.

In the bright moonlight, Skeet had no trouble leading them. Every once in a while, he took a bad step and grunted or winced in pain, but they made swift progress to the lake, where they picked up a well-worn hiking trail. Soon after, they arrived at a beat-up green International pickup truck parked at the end of a little-used gravel track.

“This isn't an official parking area, but the park service guys all recognize the Green Monster here and leave 'er alone,” Skeet told them. “Just throw the packs in the back. Either of you fellas drive a stick shift?”

“We don't drive at all,” Taylor blurted.

Skeet frowned, then looked up at the setting moon and sky full of stars. “Well, the good news is it's a great night to start learning. My gear-shifting arm's no good, but if one of you can shift, I think I can manage the pedals and steering wheel. Who wants to give shifting a whirl?”

Jake was about to volunteer, but he looked at Taylor and said, “You do it.”

Taylor's face lit up. “Really, Jake?” he asked, forgetting to conceal their names.

Jake nodded. “Yeah, Taylor. Go ahead.” He figured there was no longer any reason not to use Taylor's name.

With Skeet's instructions, Taylor quickly figured out the truck's ancient manual transmission. At first the gears gave off hideous grinding noises whenever he shifted, and once, while he was instructing Taylor, Skeet almost steered straight into a ponderosa pine. By the time they drove out of the park, however, Taylor was only grinding the gears every third or fourth shift.

“Maybe we should try out for the NASCAR circuit,” Skeet joked.

They drove about ten miles beyond the park's border before turning onto a series of logging roads. They navigated the Green Monster along smaller and smaller roads before finally pulling the truck up to a small cabin made of hand-cut timbers.

“Home, sweet home!” Skeet climbed out of the truck,
again wincing in pain, while Jake and Taylor pulled the backpacks from the truck.

“Good job driving,” Jake told Taylor as Skeet led them to the cabin. Taylor beamed.

Skeet pushed through the cabin door and opened a couple of shutters to let in some light. “It isn't much,” he said, “but it's all mine and it's hard to find.”

Jake put down their packs, and he and Taylor stared in wonder at the cabin. They saw hardly any lights or electrical appliances anywhere, but dominating the center of the far wall was an old woodburning stove with a black cylindrical pipe rising through the ceiling. To one side stood a simple bed, built from wrist-thick logs, and on the other side, next to a window, sat a handmade wooden table with three wooden chairs surrounding it.

The cabin's walls, though, really caught the boys' attention. Dozens of wooden pegs had been inserted into the log beams, and from them hung an astounding assortment of tools, traps, weapons, lamps, rope, pots, frying pans—everything a person needed to survive. On the walls next to the door, Skeet had built several shelves loaded with jars of canned fruits and vegetables and meats, along with flour, sugar, molasses, rice, and other staples.

“Cool!” Taylor exclaimed.

Cody obviously agreed, and set about sniffing two large bearskin rugs spread across the cabin floor.

Jake said, “You must have been living out here for a long time.”

“Yep,” Skeet said. “But we've got plenty of time to chat later. You boys fix us some breakfast while I find a proper splint for this arm here.”

Skeet dug out an enormous first aid box that seemed hopelessly modern compared to the rest of the cabin. Armed with real matches for a change, Taylor quickly got a fire going in the wood stove, while Jake took out a frying pan and began studying the shelves.

“Why don't you open a couple of cans of corned beef and hash?” Skeet suggested. “Then head out to the cold box. I think I got a few eggs in there.”

Outside, Jake found a wooden storage box sunk deeply into the north side of the hill. He unlatched the two wooden bolts on the door, and inside, he found a dozen eggs along with two sides of what looked like cured deer meat. By the time he got back, Taylor had the fire blazing, so Jake dumped half the eggs and the corned beef into the frying pan and soon had the mixture sizzling away on the stove. Fifteen minutes later, they all sat down to breakfast.

“Not bad,” Skeet said, shoving a big spoonful of eggs and hash into his mouth. “It seems like you've done this before.”

“Our mom's been sick,” Taylor explained between bites. “Jake here does most of the cooking.”

Skeet nodded, and they all finished eating in silence.

Afterward, Skeet told them to fill up two large pots of water from the well outside. “It's to wash the dishes,” he explained. “And I imagine you boys could use a bath, too, eh? I've got a few solar panels on the roof, and later in the day they'll turn out some warm water, but for now, we'll just have to make do with the stove.”

After the heavy meal, fatigue had begun to settle in, but they did as Skeet told them, boiling the water, cleaning up the dishes, and then mixing the rest of the hot water with cold water in a large steel tub about fifty feet from the cabin.

By the time they'd washed and hung up their clothes, Jake and Taylor were so tired, they could barely stand up straight. Skeet didn't look much peppier. Even though the sun had climbed well above the tree line, Skeet said, “Well, boys, now that the chores are done, I think we could all use a little shut-eye, don't you agree?”

“You got that right,” Taylor said, sighing.

Jake and Skeet smiled.

“All right. You boys make yourselves at home. I've got a couple of extra sleeping bags you can spread out on the bearskins there. Sleep as long as you want, and when we all feel like ourselves again, we'll sit down and have a talk.”

19
When Jake opened his eyes, he didn't know where he was or how long he'd been sleeping. A dim light filtered in through the cabin windows, and he breathed in the musky scents of the bearskins beneath him. To his side, Taylor snored deeply, but Skeet's bed was empty. Jake thought maybe he'd slept almost an entire day and that it was dawn once again, but a few moments later he heard footsteps approach the cabin from outside, and the heavy wooden door squeaked open.

“Anyone alive in here?” Skeet asked.

Jake sat up. “Uh, yeah. Is it morning?”

Skeet chuckled. “No, but we burned most of the daylight. Kick that brother of yours, and come help me check the traplines.”

Skeet left again while Jake managed to rouse Taylor. Outside, they found Skeet sitting at a rough-made table under a ponderosa pine—a collection of maps and notebooks were spread out before him. Nearby, Jake noticed a solar panel recharging some batteries—presumably for some of Skeet's equipment.

“What are you doing?” Jake asked.

“Just catching up on my notes from my latest tracking trip in the Tetons.”

“You mean looking for the wolverines?” Taylor asked, still rubbing grit from his eyes.

“Yep. Unfortunately, that rockslide smashed all my tracking gear. I'm going to need a new antenna and receiver.”

“Is that how you follow them? With a radio?” Jake had heard about scientists who radio-collared wild animals, but he had never actually met one.

“Yep. Got about a dozen wolverines collared, but for the last week or so, I've been following Felix. He's a young male and seems to be lookin' for a new territory. I hope I don't lose him while I'm getting this gear replaced.”

“Doesn't your arm need to get better too?”

Skeet glanced down at his sling and scoffed. “Baw, this isn't anything—probably just a hairline fracture. It won't slow me down too much,” Skeet said, standing up. “In fact, while you two were sawin' logs, I managed to set a few traps, even with my lame arm here. Let's go see if we caught ourselves some dinner.”

“I thought you wanted to talk,” said Taylor.

“First rule of survival: chores come first.”

Skeet led them over rough ground for about a mile. Instead of following trails, they crossed exposed granite slopes and cut through stands of pine and fir that looked like no human had set foot there before. The sun had dipped behind mountain peaks to the west, but this time of year, the sky held on to plenty of light to help them find their way. As they walked, they flushed a mule deer and a small flock of turkeys.

“Watch where you step,” Skeet cautioned them. “The way you fellas walk, every animal within ten miles of here knows you're coming—don't you want some grub?”

After that, Jake and Taylor did their best to start stepping on rocks and avoid twigs that would make noise, but only Cody seemed to move as quietly as Skeet. Finally Skeet held up his hand, and the boys slowed. They cautiously approached a game trail where Skeet had set his first trap.