paintbrush and shooting stars and the lush, long grass. Luke was sure the parents knew what was going on and were just playing along, pretending to be asleep. When they got real close, the pups would pounce and everything went crazy and the whole pack would go chasing around the meadow, tumbling and nipping each other and the game would go on and on until they all collapsed in one big, exhausted heap of wolf.
And witnessing this, Luke would silently say a little prayer, not to God, of whose existence he’d had scant evidence so far, but to whoever or whatever decided these things, pleading that the wolves be smart enough to stay up there where they were safe and not venture down to the valley.
But now it had happened. One of them had come.
And just now, watching his father lapping up the limelight on the porch, Luke had felt angry at the wolf, not for killing his sister’s dog, whom he had always loved well enough, but for being so utterly reckless with the lives of the others. Didn’t the fool of an animal know how people around here felt about wolves?
His father was aware how well Luke knew the mountains, how he was always going up there, off on his own, when he should have been helping out on the ranch, like ranchers’ sons were supposed to. And earlier that evening, before all the people showed up, his father had asked him if he’d ever seen any sign of wolves up there.
Luke had shaken his head and, instead of leaving it at that, for some stupid reason, had tried to say no, he never had. The lie made him block on both the no and the never even worse than usual, and his father walked off before the sentence was out.
Luke just let it die unspoken, with the other million dead sentences he had inside him.
Across the yard, the necropsy was over now and Dan Prior had turned off his camera and was helping Rimmer clean up. Luke’s father and Clyde stepped closer and the four men started to talk, their voices low, so that Luke could no longer hear. He gave the old dog one last stroke, stood up and walked out of the barn toward them, stopping a short way off in the hope that no one would spot him.
‘Well, there’s no doubt it was a wolf,’ Rimmer said.
Luke’s father laughed. ‘Was there any doubt before? My daughter saw it with her own eyes. I reckon she can tell a wolf from a woodpecker.’
‘I’m sure she can, sir.’
His father caught sight of him and Luke cussed himself for leaving the barn.
‘Gentlemen, this is my son, Luke. Luke, this here’s Mr Prior and Mr Rimmer.’
Fighting an instinct to turn and run, Luke walked over and shook hands with them. They both said hi but Luke just nodded, avoiding their eyes in case they tried to get him to talk. As usual, his father steamed right on with the conversation, simultaneously rescuing him and consigning him to yet another failure. Luke knew the real reason his father always stepped in so smartly; he didn’t like folks knowing he had a stutterer for a son.
‘So, how come you fellas never told us there were wolves around here?’
It was Prior who answered.
‘Well, Mr Calder, we’ve always known wolves do sometimes travel along the continental divide. As you know, there’s a growing population of them in the state—’
His father gave a mocking laugh. ‘I had heard tell.’
‘And as they do travel, sometimes, quite long distances, it’s not always easy to know where they all are at any given time or—’
‘I thought you were supposed to have radio collars on them all.’
‘Some, yes sir, but not all. Your daughter’s pretty sure this one didn’t have a collar. We’ve had no indication, until today that is, of any wolf activity in this area. This one may be a disperser, a single wolf who’s broken away from some other pack, maybe many miles from here. Maybe he’s hanging out with others that are collared. That’s what we’re going to try and find out. In fact, as of tomorrow morning, we’ll be out there looking.’
‘Well, I
And witnessing this, Luke would silently say a little prayer, not to God, of whose existence he’d had scant evidence so far, but to whoever or whatever decided these things, pleading that the wolves be smart enough to stay up there where they were safe and not venture down to the valley.
But now it had happened. One of them had come.
And just now, watching his father lapping up the limelight on the porch, Luke had felt angry at the wolf, not for killing his sister’s dog, whom he had always loved well enough, but for being so utterly reckless with the lives of the others. Didn’t the fool of an animal know how people around here felt about wolves?
His father was aware how well Luke knew the mountains, how he was always going up there, off on his own, when he should have been helping out on the ranch, like ranchers’ sons were supposed to. And earlier that evening, before all the people showed up, his father had asked him if he’d ever seen any sign of wolves up there.
Luke had shaken his head and, instead of leaving it at that, for some stupid reason, had tried to say no, he never had. The lie made him block on both the no and the never even worse than usual, and his father walked off before the sentence was out.
Luke just let it die unspoken, with the other million dead sentences he had inside him.
Across the yard, the necropsy was over now and Dan Prior had turned off his camera and was helping Rimmer clean up. Luke’s father and Clyde stepped closer and the four men started to talk, their voices low, so that Luke could no longer hear. He gave the old dog one last stroke, stood up and walked out of the barn toward them, stopping a short way off in the hope that no one would spot him.
‘Well, there’s no doubt it was a wolf,’ Rimmer said.
Luke’s father laughed. ‘Was there any doubt before? My daughter saw it with her own eyes. I reckon she can tell a wolf from a woodpecker.’
‘I’m sure she can, sir.’
His father caught sight of him and Luke cussed himself for leaving the barn.
‘Gentlemen, this is my son, Luke. Luke, this here’s Mr Prior and Mr Rimmer.’
Fighting an instinct to turn and run, Luke walked over and shook hands with them. They both said hi but Luke just nodded, avoiding their eyes in case they tried to get him to talk. As usual, his father steamed right on with the conversation, simultaneously rescuing him and consigning him to yet another failure. Luke knew the real reason his father always stepped in so smartly; he didn’t like folks knowing he had a stutterer for a son.
‘So, how come you fellas never told us there were wolves around here?’
It was Prior who answered.
‘Well, Mr Calder, we’ve always known wolves do sometimes travel along the continental divide. As you know, there’s a growing population of them in the state—’
His father gave a mocking laugh. ‘I had heard tell.’
‘And as they do travel, sometimes, quite long distances, it’s not always easy to know where they all are at any given time or—’
‘I thought you were supposed to have radio collars on them all.’
‘Some, yes sir, but not all. Your daughter’s pretty sure this one didn’t have a collar. We’ve had no indication, until today that is, of any wolf activity in this area. This one may be a disperser, a single wolf who’s broken away from some other pack, maybe many miles from here. Maybe he’s hanging out with others that are collared. That’s what we’re going to try and find out. In fact, as of tomorrow morning, we’ll be out there looking.’
‘Well, I
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