Firstborn (14 page)

“Thank you, Uncle.”

Sully studied him for a moment. “You know, Lamar,” he said, “I like you. You're polite.”

“Thank you,” Lamar said again.

“What are you doing off on your own?”

I was curious to hear Lamar's answer. He hesitated a moment and said, “I'm taking a break from the pack.”

“Are you?” Sully said. “That's brave. But life can be hard on your own, you know. Dangerous, too.”

At a sudden noise both their heads spun around, but it was just a hunk of snow plopping off the tree I was in.

Sully licked a bit of fox fur off the tip of his snout. “Since you've left the pack, why don't you come along with me?”

“Where are you going?” said Lamar.

“Up north.”

Lamar looked to the north—he'd clearly learned his directions without the aid of a weather vane—but down in the barranca there wasn't much of a view. “What's up north?” he asked.

“The most delicious food in the world,” Sully said. “Wait'll you taste it!”

“Elk?”

“Even better.”

Lamar looked dubious.

“It's called cattle,” Sully said.

“Never heard of it.”

“They don't live in Yellowstone.”

“What do they look like?”

“They're big. That's why I could use your help.”

“As big as buffalo?”

“Almost.”

“Did a cattle bite your ear off?”

“No, no.”

“What's the cattle place called?”

“Montana.”

“If Montana's so wonderful, why'd you come here?”

“Polite but full of questions,” Sully murmured. “I came down here because I missed my brother. He's the only family I have. But the feeling doesn't seem to be mutual.”

“I'm sorry for the way my father treated you,” Lamar said gravely. “It wasn't right.”

Sully shrugged and said, “Well, come to think of it, you're family too, aren't you? What do you say? Want to see the Big Sky Country?”

“The Big Sky Country?” Lamar said, his ears twitching with interest.

“Montana,” I said. “But I wouldn't advise it. The ranchers there have guns, and they don't like wolves.”

“How would you know?” Sully said.

“I was born and raised there.”

Knowing Lamar, I figured the idea of a new place with novel creatures and a big sky would tempt him, so I was relieved when he heeded my advice and said, “Maybe another time.” Though, of course, it may have been the idea of leaving Artemis's neighborhood that dissuaded him.

He and his uncle parted on good terms. Lamar took the remainder of the fox back to Artemis's cave and retreated to his usual spot. Day turned to night with no sign of her. To keep himself from falling asleep and missing her again, he recited some bird lore, mostly picked up from me.

“Bald eagles aren't really bald. Their heads are covered with snow-white feathers. Golden eagles are best avoided, but goldfinches are harmless. White pelicans have pouchy bills, though you don't want to get too close on account of their fish breath. Ravens are even blacker than Raze, and smarter, too, though not as smart as magpies or crows. Warblers have good voices, though Audubon says his high range was better when he was younger. Sapsuckers are showy but no brighter than nuthatches. Seagulls aren't particular. If there's no sea around, they'll use a lake. So will ruddy ducks and ospreys and scaups like Sabrina. Ospreys are excellent divebombers, but Peregrine falcons are faster. Mountain bluebirds are the color my eyes were when I was little. Now my eyes are more like a meadowlark.”

He didn't mention swallows or owls, probably on account of the parts they'd played in Rider's death, and to be honest, I wouldn't have minded if he'd left out bluebirds. Once he got through all his birds, he started on lesser creatures. After that he listed the wonders he'd come across in Yellowstone, from geysers to mud volcanos. When he reached the end of his recitation, he started over.

By the third time through, we both started yawning.

I woke before him, at first light. Artemis had clearly come and eaten, for again there were leftovers not far from Lamar. They tempted me, but fond as I was of Lamar they were a little too close to his snout, so I flew off to the den site for a snack. The wolves were still in their energy-conserving mode, snoozing away, though I noticed they'd made quite a dent in the pile of buffalo meat. While I was taking a few pecks at it, Frick cracked an eye open.

“Blue Boy's been asking about Lamar,” he said quietly. “Is he all right?”

I assured him that Lamar was fine.

Around midday I headed back to check on Lamar but got sidetracked when I spotted Sully. Despite the pretty picture he'd painted of Montana, he was heading west, not north. More surprising, he was on a hiking trail. The humans had made hundreds of miles of hiking trails in the huge park, and in a month or two they would be using them. But I'd never seen a wolf on one. Wolves like to blaze their own.

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!”

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.