Wolf Stalker (2 page)

“D
id you get hold of Mike?” Jack asked his mother. Olivia shook her head. Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “I am definitely getting worried. Something must have gone wrong. I think we better drive up to the wolf office.”

It was the weekend after Labor Day. Although Yellowstone still had plenty of visitors, the crowds were skimpy compared with the holiday jam-up a week earlier. Jack had been on this same walkway between Old Faithful and the parking lot when actual human gridlock occurred, and no one could move at all. Those times, he'd kept his eyes focused on his father's blond head. At six foot three, Steven was pretty easy to follow in a crowd. Olivia got swallowed.

Jack looked like his father: tall, thin, and blond. Ashley was a young version of her mother: short and slightly built, with big dark eyes and dark hair that framed her face in gentle wisps. And right now, Ashley was babbling to strangers, the way she always did. In the stream of visitors heading for their cars, Ashley had picked out a silver-haired couple. Tagging along beside them, she said, “Wasn't it great?”

“Fantastic,” the woman agreed.

“Have you ever seen it before?”

“No. We live in Minnesota,” the man answered.

Smiling, the woman asked, “So did you come to Yellowstone just to watch Old Faithful?”

“No, we're here to help the wolves. My mom's a wildlife veterinarian.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. She works at the National Elk Refuge in Jackson Hole, but sometimes she gets a call and she has to help the national parks in emergencies…”

That Ashley! Jack thought. As a baby, she'd always smiled at everyone she saw. Now here she was, almost 11, and still acting as though each person who crossed her path was a new friend just waiting to be discovered.

Jack wasn't as trusting. Whenever they were out together, he made it his job to keep an eye on his sister, trying to prevent her from spilling the entire life stories of all the Landons into the ears of total strangers. This couple looked harmless enough—the man wore the usual tourist camera slung around his neck, and a floppy-brimmed hat on his head; his wife had on a pink sweatshirt that said Save the Whales. It matched the sun-tinted pink of her cheeks.

“Well, my husband and I love wolves. They have every right to be here in Yellowstone,” the woman told her.

“That's what my mom thinks. It's not their fault if a dog tries to mess with them.”

“Ashley—” Olivia began.

“It's true! Isn't that why we came here, Mom? Because that dog got killed yesterday by the wolves?” Turning back to the couple, Ashley said, “My mom's investigating to find out what really happened when the dog got eaten, but it might be hard to tell if there's not much left of him.”

“Goodness!” the woman said. “So you're the one who's investigating?” she asked Olivia.

Giving Ashley a look, Olivia hesitated before she answered, “I'm mostly here to gather some information. I hope to handle it quietly, so people won't hear about the killing and become upset at the wolves.”

The man said, “Well, if you wanted to keep it a secret, you're too late. I already heard about that wolf attack on the national news.”

Olivia squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, no.”

“And I ought to warn you—you're going to be right in the middle of a big mess. When we came into the park this morning, demonstrators were picketing. Right outside the west gate. The news people were all over the place with TV cameras and everything.”

The man and woman took turns interrupting each other as they told the story: “People were carrying signs and yelling—”

“‘Get rid of the wolves, or we'll do it for you—'”

“—and, ‘The only good wolf is a dead wolf.'”

“Who were these people?” Steven asked.

“Looked like a bunch of ranchers to me. From what their signs said, wolves have been eating their sheep and they don't like it.”

“No, no, no,” the woman interrupted. “Ranchers were there, too, but most of the people were some kind of militia group. There are a lot of baldhead militia groups in this part of the country—”

The man laughed. “They're called skinheads, Louise. Not baldheads.”

“Whatever. They kept yelling that bringing wolves to the park was government interference, and citizens' rights were being trampled on—”

By then they'd all reached the Landons' jeep in the parking lot. Troy lounged against the tailgate, looking bored, while Olivia and Steven extracted every bit of information they could from the Minnesota couple. As they parted, the woman called back, “We believe the wolves should be in Yellowstone, particularly since they were here first. But I think you're going to have a real battle keeping them in the park.”

“They're worth fighting for,” Olivia answered. She unlocked the door and said, “Get in the jeep, kids. We need to find out what's been going on around here.”

On the way to Yellowstone, Jack had been stuck for four long hours sitting in the back seat beside sullen, surly Troy Haverson. Ashley had it even worse: To leave enough room for the two boys, she'd been crammed into the jeep's tailgate, with backpacks and totes and extra parkas and Steven's cases of camera equipment. Now they were back in the jeep again, but this time they wouldn't have far to go.

Stands of lodgepole pine lined both sides of the road. Some clumps were tall and green. Others had been burned black from forest fires; their skinny trunks stood straight up like charred toothpicks. For anyone who hadn't seen it before, the evidence of fire's devastation must have been startling. But Troy stayed slumped in his corner, hardly noticing, saying nothing.

Steven was driving, which left Olivia free to turn around in her seat to tempt Troy into conversation—or at least into some kind of response. “This is probably all new to you, but the fight over the wolves goes way back. Did you know, Troy,” she began, “that wolves roamed Yellowstone for thousands of years? Then when people first moved into this area more than a century ago, they killed the wolves for their pelts—you know, their fur?”

“Yeah, that's right, Mom.” Ashley chimed in because she knew the story almost as well as her mother did. “After that, ranchers started poisoning the wolves because they chased after sheep and cattle. And pretty soon there weren't any wolves left. For more than 60 years, not a single wolf in all of Yellowstone. Now we've got them back again, but….” Her face clouded. “It sounds like they're in trouble.”

Troy just looked out the window. Jack thought he wasn't going to answer at all, but then he muttered, “So wolves got screwed up when people started messing in their lives, right?”

Olivia hesitated. “Well…yes. I guess you could say that.”

“And they would have been a whole lot better off if people had just left them alone. Right?”

It was a question that wasn't quite a question. Was he talking about the wolves or about himself, Jack wondered.

Olivia took the hint and left Troy to his own thoughts. She faced forward again, took out her cell phone, and punched in Mike's number. Once more she only got his answering machine. This time she didn't bother to leave a message.

Steven turned on the car radio, maybe so the two of them could talk about Troy without being overheard. Or talk about the wolves, or the demonstrators, or about what they were going to do now since they couldn't connect with Mike.

“Can't you put on some better music, Mom?” Jack asked. “That station's dumb.”

“Yeah. Dumb,” Ashley echoed.

“OK.” Olivia started to change the dial on the car radio, but stopped abruptly.

“Listen!” she exclaimed.

“…question of wolves in Yellowstone. This is JJK-Talk Radio. Because of intense public interest, we're rebroad-casting last night's interview with Mr. George Campbell,” an announcer was saying. “Campbell is the man whose dog was viciously attacked and killed by wolves in Yellowstone yesterday. All right, folks, here we go. And after we play this, we'll be ready to take your calls on this explosive issue.” There was a slight clicking sound, and then, “You told us, Mr. Campbell, that you weren't actually in Yellowstone Park when your dog was murdered.”

“That's right. I was hiking in Gallatin National Forest, which is right next to Yellowstone, when the wolves came after me and my dog.”

“So,” the announcer continued, “the wolf pack chased your golden retriever over the boundary line into Yellowstone.”

“You got it, Gary. I paid five hundred dollars for that dog when he was a pup. After I trained him to hunt, he was worth a whole lot more than that. Rex was the best hunting dog I ever owned. That wolf pack ran him down and ripped him up, and there was nothin' I could do to save him. People better start being careful—before you know it, wolves'll be snatching your dogs off your front porch and babies outta their—”

“That's ridiculous!” Olivia was getting more upset. “Wolves don't—”

“Take it easy.” Steven reached out his hand to calm her, then turned the radio louder.

“Mr. Campbell, there's been some question about Rex being found inside Yellowstone Park. Just so our listeners understand, dogs are allowed in Gallatin National Forest, where you said you were, but no dog is allowed to roam Yellowstone's back country. Not even on a leash.”

“Yeah, but see, Gary, I wasn't in the park until after the wolves chased Rex across the boundary. I mean, I was close to Yellowstone, you know? Maybe even real close. But it was the wolves' fault Rex ran into the park. They chased him, and then they killed him.”

Another click, and then the announcer said, “Okay, folks, that was last night. Now it's Saturday afternoon, we're on the air live, and all our lines are open. Just pick up your phones and punch in JJK-TALK. Remember, the JJ stands for Judge and Jury, and that means all of you great folks out there in our listening audience.”

There was the sound of a ringing phone, followed by, “Here's our first caller: Martha from Billings. This is JJK-Talk Radio, Martha. Go ahead.”

“Well….” A woman's voice crackled over the radio. “Uh—am I on the air, Gary?”

“You sure are, Martha. Go ahead.”

“Well, I just want to say, those vicious wolves are the Adolf Hitler of the animal kingdom. I'm scared to let my kids stand on the corner to wait for the school bus anymore. Like Mr. Campbell said, what if a wolf or a whole pack of those killer wolves came running out of Yellowstone? No one is safe.”

“All right, thanks for calling in, Martha. Let's get another opinion. This next caller is Larry from Pocatello. Larry's with a group that is picketing at Yellowstone right now to protest the wolves. That's pro-
test
, folks, not pro-tect! Go ahead, Larry. Tell us what you think.”

In a deep, deliberate voice, the new caller declared, “When this country was founded, it was the people who decided what was done and what wasn't. Now everything's run by the government. A bunch of Washington suits sat down with some tree huggers and dictated that killer wolves should come back into our national park.”

“So what's your point, Larry? Can you sum it up?” the announcer asked.

“The point is—the government's cramming this wolf thing down the regular citizens' throats. People, we don't have to take it! We got to unite and rid Yellowstone Park of those bloodthirsty wolves before it's too late!”

More phones rang in the background as the announcer asked, “Just how do you suggest we do that, Larry?”

“If I could, I'd say, ‘Men, take up your rifles and go into Yellowstone and—'”

“I can't stand it!” Olivia cried, snapping off the radio. “How can people talk so crazy and get so worked up over this kind of hysterical propaganda?”

In the backseat, Troy glanced from Olivia to Steven and back again. For once, he seemed interested in what was going on.

“Just wait till we get to the site of the so-called wolf attack, Steven,” Olivia vowed. “I'm going to reconstruct what happened with that dog. I have a feeling there's more to it than George Campbell is telling.”

“You'll find out the truth, Mom,” Ashley said confidently.

Steven shrugged. “The guy's dog is dead, Olivia. That much of it is true. Even the park officials admit the wolves killed the dog.”

“Well, I still want to hear what Mike has to say,” Olivia answered. “If I can ever get through to him.”

Since Ashley was kneeling in the tailgate, she had a good view of the highway. “Watch out, Dad,” she yelled. “Cars are stopping up ahead.”

As they slowed down and drove closer, they could see the cause of the traffic pileup: three big, shaggy, bearded bison were standing in the middle of the road. Cars from both directions had stopped in long lines; doors were flung open as people jumped out, cameras in hand, to take pictures of the massive beasts.

“Don't the visitors read the warnings?” Olivia asked, exasperated. She rolled down the window on her side of the jeep and leaned out—head, shoulders, and torso. “Stay away from those bison!” she yelled to the people on the road. “They can charge you and gore you. Please! You're putting yourselves in danger.”

A few people turned to stare at Olivia, but most of them just kept taking pictures.

“Listen to me! Those bison look big and slow, but they can move fast. Thirty miles an hour!”

“Give it up, Mom,” Jack said, embarrassed that his mother was sticking out of the jeep window like a jack-in-the-box, waving her arms and shouting that way, especially since no one seemed to be taking her seriously. Only the big bull buffalo raised his head to stare at Olivia with his beady eyes. Slowly, he shook his massive head, as if agreeing with Olivia that tourists could be unbelievably, dangerously reckless. Rippling the dust off his dark hide, he turned and trotted down an embankment into the field below. His pair of buffalo cows followed him.