Never Cry Wolf (9 page)

 

16

Morning Meat Delivery

S
INCE THE
removal of the pups to the ravine they had been largely hidden from my view; and so one morning, before Angeline or the two males had returned from the nightly hunt, I made my way to an outcropping of rocks crowned with a scrub of dwarfed spruces which overlooked the ravine from a distance of less than a hundred feet. There was only the faintest puff of wind and it was blowing from the northeast, so that any wolves at the den, or approaching it, would not be likely to get my scent. I settled myself among the spruces and scanned the floor of the ravine.

The entire area (an enclosure about thirty yards long by ten wide) was crisscrossed with trails. As I
watched, two pups emerged from a jumble of shattered rocks under one wall of the ravine and scampered down one of the trails toward the tiny stream. They drew up alongside each other at the stream's edge and plunged their blunt little faces into the water, wagging their stubby tails the while.

They had grown a good deal in the past weeks, and were now about the size of and roughly the same shape as full-grown groundhogs. They were so fat their legs seemed dwarfed, and their woolly gray coats of puppy hair made them look even more rotund. I could see no promise in them of the lithe and magnificent physique which characterized their parents.

A third pup emerged into view a little farther down the gully, dragging with him the well-chewed scapula of a caribou. He was growling over it as if it were alive and dangerous, and the pups by the stream heard him, lifted their dripping faces, and then bounced off in his direction.

A free-for-all now developed and the air was filled with puppy growls and shrill yips of outrage as one or another of the little beasts sank his needle teeth into a brother's leg. The fourth pup appeared and flung himself into the melee with an ecstatic squeal of pleasure.

After four or five minutes of this internecine warfare a raven flew low over the gully, and as his shadow slipped past the pups they abandoned the bone and scuttled for shelter. But this was evidently only part of the game, for they emerged again at once showing no signs of real fear. While two of them went back to battling over the bone, the other two ambled off to the muskeg patch and began sniffing about for mice.

Any mice which still remained in this small area must have become exceptionally cagy. After a few minutes of perfunctory snuffling, and one or two attempts to burrow into the muck, these pups gave up the attempt to hunt and started playing with each other.

It was at this moment that Angeline returned.

I was so engrossed in watching the pups that I was not aware of her presence until I heard a deep whine near at hand. The pups heard it too, and we all swiveled our heads to see Angeline at the edge of the ravine. The pups instantly abandoned their games and set up a shrill yammer of excitement, one of them even standing up on his pudgy hindlegs and pawing the air in joyful anticipation.

Angeline watched them for a second or two, poised and lovely, then leaped over the rim and down to
the valley floor, where she was mobbed. She sniffed each pup, turning some of them right over on their backs in the process, then she hunched her shoulders and began to retch.

Although I should have known what to expect, I was caught off guard and for a horrible moment was afraid she had eaten poison. Nothing of the kind. After several convulsive motions she brought up what appeared to be at least ten pounds of partly digested meat, then she leaped out of the way and lay down to watch the pups go to it.

If the morning meat delivery made me somewhat squeamish, it did not inhibit the pups. With single-minded voracity they waded into their breakfast while Angeline watched them tolerantly, making no attempt to correct their appalling manners.

Breakfast finished—and not a scrap remained for lunch—the pups simply keeled over where they stood—bloated, and evidently incapable of any further hellery for the moment.

The somnolence of a hot summer morning descended on us all. Very soon I was the only one still awake, and I was having a hard time staying that way. I would have liked to ease my position a little and have a stretch; but I did not dare move, for I was so close to the wolves and the silence was so
complete that they would have heard the slightest sound I made.

It may be indelicate of me to mention it, but I seem to have been equipped at birth with the equivalent of an echo chamber in my stomach regions. When I am hungry, or even sometimes when I am not, this portion of my anatomy becomes autonomous and begins producing noises of a startling variety and volume and of a carrying power which has to be heard to be believed. There is nothing I can do about it, although, over the years I have at least learned how to mitigate the consequences by pretending, with some skill, that I am not involved, and that the rumblings which others hear do not proceed from me.

My demon drummer of the nether depths now chose to do his stuff, and the resultant cacophony rolled through the hush of the morning like distant thunder.

Angeline woke with a start. Her head went up and she listened intently, but with a puzzled expression. When the sounds continued (despite everything I could do to muffle them) she got slowly to her feet and, after a glance at the pups, as if to assure herself that
they
were not responsible, she cocked a speculative eye at the cloudless sky above.
It held no solution to the mystery. Thoroughly aroused now, she began trying to track down the sounds.

This was no easy task, for there is a pronounced ventriloquial effect to abdominal noises in general and to mine in particular. After walking up and down the ravine twice, Angeline seemed no closer to satisfying her mounting curiosity.

I was undecided whether to attempt a retreat or whether to stand my ground in the hopes that my internal orchestra would exhaust itself; but the orchestra showed that it was still full of vim and vigor by producing a new and protracted rumble, of earth-shaking proportions. Moments later Angeline's head appeared over the rim of the gully about ten feet from me.

We stared mutely into each other's eyes for several seconds. At least
she
was mute, and I was trying very hard to be, but with limited success. It was an extraordinarily embarrassing predicament: the more I had seen of Angeline, the higher my regard for her had risen; I valued her good opinion, and I did not want to appear foolish in her eyes.

However I may have appeared, I
felt
extremely foolish. Her sudden appearance seemed to stimulate my intestinal musicians to more splendid efforts, and,
before I could think of any feasible way of excusing myself, Angeline wrinkled her lips, bared her superb white teeth in an expression of cold disdain, and vanished.

Hastily abandoning my hiding place, I ran after her to the edge of the ravine; but I arrived too late even to apologize. All I saw of her was a scornful flick of her beautiful tail as she disappeared into the warren of crevices on the far side of the gully, driving her pups before her.

 

17

Visitors from Hidden Valley

A
LTHOUGH
I continued my vigil at the observation tent well into July, I did not add much to my knowledge of the wolves. Because the pups were growing rapidly and needed increasingly large quantities of food, George, Angeline and Albert were forced to devote most of their energy and time to hunting far afield. During the brief periods when they were at the den they spent most of their time sleeping, since finding food for the pups had become an exhausting business. Nevertheless, occasionally they were still able to surprise me.

 

One day the wolves killed a caribou close to home and this convenient food supply gave them an opportunity to take a holiday. They did not go hunting
at all that night, but stayed near the den and rested.

The next morning dawned fine and warm, and a general air of contented lassitude seemed to overcome all three. Angeline lay at her ease on the rocks overlooking the summer den, while George and Albert rested in sandy beds on the esker ridge. The only signs of life from any of them through the long morning were occasional changes of position, and lazy looks about the countryside.

Toward noon, Albert roused himself and meandered down to the bay to get a drink Then for an hour or two he hunted sculpins in a desultory fashion, after which he started back toward his bed. When he was halfway there he had to stop to relieve himself—an effort which seemed to exhaust him so thoroughly that he gave up the idea of going back to the crest of the esker and sprawled out where he was instead. His head instantly began to droop, and he was soon asleep.

He had not been unobserved. George had been lying with his head on his forepaws, casually watching the progress of his friend's fishing expedition. When Albert collapsed in sleep, George got up. He stretched, yawned hugely, and with an appearance of idle insouciance began to amble off toward the
spot where Albert lay. He seemed quite aimless, stopping to sniff at shrubs and mouseholes, and twice sitting down to scratch himself. Nevertheless, he never lost sight of Albert—and when he had drifted to within fifty feet of the sleeping wolf his demeanor changed dramatically.

Lowering himself into an almost catlike crouch he began to inch toward Albert with every appearance of serious intent. The tension began to build, and I found myself clutching the telescope as I waited for the denouement, wondering what had prompted George's swift transformation. Had the perfect harmony of the family broken down at last? Had Albert somehow transgressed the wolfish code, and was he about to be made to pay for his transgressions with his blood? It looked that way.

With infinite caution, George slithered closer and closer to the unsuspecting sleeper. When he was ten feet from Albert—who was still dead to the world—George drew his hindquarters up under him and, after pausing long enough to fully savor the moment, launched himself in a tremendous leap while at the same time letting loose a terrifying roar.

The impact of a hundred and fifty odd pounds of pouncing wolf ought to have knocked the wind clean
out of Albert; but he had some breath left—for he produced a brand-new sound for my catalogue of wolf noises. It was a high-pitched snarl of shock and outrage—not entirely unlike the sound I have heard an angry woman make when, in a crowded subway car, someone pinched her bottom.

George leaped away, already running, while behind him Albert struggled to his feet.

The chase which followed appeared to be in deadly earnest. George shot up the slope of the esker as if the hounds of hell were after him, while Albert followed with a grim and furious determination. The two of them jinked and dodged back and forth, exerting themselves to the limits of their strength.

As they swept past the summer den, Angeline bobbed up, took a quick look, and enthusiastically joined in the chase. The odds were now two-to-one against George, and he could no longer dodge but was forced to rely on a straightaway flight which carried him down off the esker, across the muskeg below it, and along the shore of the bay.

There was a huge split rock on the shore near the head of the bay, and George shot through the narrow interstice, swerved so abruptly that sand and
stones flew from under his feet, then circled sharply back around the rock just in time to catch Angeline broadside-on. He did not hesitate, but crashed deliberately into her, bowling her completely over and sending her slithering on her side for half a dozen feet.

One of his pursuers was now out of action temporarily, but George had lost his lead. Before he could be off again, Albert was upon him and they went down together, locked in combat. Meanwhile Angeline picked herself up and joined the fray.

The melee ended as suddenly as it had begun, and the three wolves separated, shook themselves, sniffed noses, wagged their tails hard, and trotted back toward the den with every indication that a good time had been had by all.

Practical jokes such as this were rare amongst the wolves, although I several times saw Angeline set an ambush for George when she spotted him at a distance returning from a hunting trip. On these occasions she would go into hiding and when he was almost abreast of her she would spring out at him. He always appeared to be startled; but this may have been assumed emotion, for in most cases his sense of smell must have warned him of her proximity. Once
the surprise was over, Angeline would nuzzle her mate, embrace him with her forepaws, fling herself down in front of him with her hindquarters elevated, or skitter along beside him, bumping him affectionately with her shoulders. The whole thing seemed to be in the nature of a private little ritual of welcome.

 

Another event which took place during the July doldrums gave me much to think about. Although Angeline now frequently went hunting with the males, there were nights when she did not go, and during one of these she had visitors.

It was well after midnight and I was dozing in my tent when a wolf howled from somewhere south of me, and not too far away. It was an unusual call, rather muted, and with no quavers. Sleepily I picked up my binoculars and tried to locate the source. Eventually I found two wolves, both strangers, sitting on a point of land on my side of the bay and directly opposite to the wolf esker.

This discovery brought me fully awake, for I had come to assume that the territory of each wolf family was sacrosanct as far as other wolves were concerned. I knew Angeline was at home, for I had
seen her entering the gully a little while earlier, and I was intensely curious to see how she would react to this intrusion.

When I trained my glasses on the gully (the telescope was not as good as ordinary binoculars for night viewing, in the twilight conditions which then prevailed) she had already emerged and was standing facing the point where the strangers were. She was keenly alert, with head thrust forward, ears cocked, and her tail stretched out astern like that of a setter.

None of the wolves moved or made a further sound for several minutes; then one of the strangers again essayed the rather tentative howl which I had already heard. Angeline reacted at once. She began slowly wagging her tail, and her tense attitude relaxed visibly. Then she trotted forward to the edge of the ravine and barked sharply.

Now I am aware that, according to the books, wolves (and Husky dogs) are not supposed to bark; but Angeline's bark was a bark and nothing else, and as soon as they heard it, the two strange wolves got to their feet and began trotting around the shore of the bay.

Angeline met them about a quarter of a mile from
the den. Standing stock-still, she waited for them to approach, and when they were five or ten yards from her they too stopped. I could hear nothing; but the tails of all three wolves began to wave slowly back and forth, and after a minute or so of this mutual indication of good feeling, Angeline stepped gingerly forward and sniffed noses.

Whoever the strangers were, they were evidently welcome. When the greeting ceremonies had been concluded all three wolves trotted toward the summer den. At the edge of the ravine one of the strangers began to romp with Angeline, and these two played for several minutes, although far more gently than Angeline played with George, or George with Albert.

While this was going on the second stranger calmly descended into the depths of the ravine where the four pups were.

Unfortunately I could not see what took place in the ravine itself; but it was certainly nothing to disturb Angeline, for, having finished playing with her friend, she also walked to the edge of the ravine and stood there looking down, her tail wagging harder than ever.

The strangers did not stay long. After twenty minutes the one in the ravine re-emerged; there was
further nose smelling among all three wolves, and then the strangers turned away and set off back the way they had come. Angeline accompanied them for some distance, frolicking first with one and then the other of them. It was not until they swung away from the shore of the bay and headed west that she turned for home.

When I told Ootek of what I had seen he was not at all surprised, although he seemed to find
my
surprise rather inexplicable. After all, he pointed out, people do visit other people; so what was odd about wolves visiting other wolves?

He had me there.

At this juncture Mike entered the discussion by asking me to describe the strange wolves. I did my best, and he nodded.

“I guess they come from the bunch in Hidden Valley,” he said. “It is maybe three, four miles south of here. I see them many times. Two bitches and one dog wolf, and some pups. I guess one of them's the mother of the bitch you call Angeline; the other's Angeline's sister maybe. Anyhow in fall they all join up with your bunch and go south together.”

I considered this information in silence for a few minutes and then I asked:

“Since only one of those two bitches has a mate,
the other must still be a spinster—which one would it be, do you think?”

Mike gave me a long and thoughtful stare.

“Listen,” he said, “how soon you figure to leave this country and go home, eh? I guess you been here too damn' long already.”