He tossed out each word as if he might be embarrassed for someone to hear. “Do they wobble to and fro…”
He paused. Something was moving far down the trail. But he couldn’t be sure.
“Can you tie them in a knot…”
He stopped chewing for a moment to listen. Afraid to move or breathe, he carefully turned his head about and scanned the trees.
“Can you tie… them in a bow?”
Something was moving his way. He jumped up and ducked into the weeds.
First, a loud hissing and then flapping wings shattered the cool air. A fat grouse flopped on the ground in a blaring fuss, guarding her nest. He pedaled backward and gave the bird all the space it demanded until he suddenly tripped and fell into the wet weeds.
“Michael!” a voice called out. “Is that you, Michael?”
A rain-drenched Amy was running toward him. He lowered his head to his chest so she couldn’t see him cry.
Dieter lay still, studying the scene. He crawled back to Josh’s side. “How you doing, partner?”
Under the shelter of thick pine Josh was dry but pale. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Josh said. He struggled to sit up.
“Hold on.” Dieter grabbed him and lowered him back to the ground. He had to go for help, but he was at least two hours away from the truck. How could he leave Josh alone? On the other hand, how long could he wait it out?
A throng of ravens fluttered in overhead. The antenna and meter that he’d pitched to the ground caught his eye. The red light was slowly blinking.
Rocko jolted up. Dieter threw a hand over the llama’s back. “Get down, boy,” he whispered. Rocko cuddled beside Josh and braced, the llama’s ears swiveling and pointing. The red light on the meter flashed faster.
Dieter crawled back to the underbrush and reached inside his jacket for the .44 Magnum.
A colossal wolf with a coat of burnished black and traces of silver on its mane loped along the opposite bank. It held its head high as if onto a scent. A leather collar surrounded its neck and a patch of blood mysteriously stained its hindquarters. The wolf hobbled in their direction and waded through the shallow water where it perched on a rock to survey the area. It picked up its hind leg to lick the wound.
Dieter lay flat and squeezed the revolver with both quivering hands. He rammed the butt of the gun into the mud and as he remembered Cory’s warning: If a ranger of mine catches anyone even looking like he’s hunting wolves… the full force of the law… slamming down like a sledge hammer?
Not that Corey’s threats mattered. Why the hell should they?
Never had Dieter imagined that he would find himself in this position: about to shoot a defenseless animal. Death had to be quick and painless. That was only right.
The wolf leaped onto another rock, but quickly slipped into the rushing water. Kicking with all fours, it found a smaller rock to climb on and then took a final leap onto the graveled shoreline. Once more it stretched its muzzle around to lick at blood before turning in Dieter’s direction.
Holding tight to the revolver, he slowly rose to his feet and began to creep toward the wolf, which retreated toward the steep embankment. Dieter lifted the revolver with extended arms and took aim at its head as a drizzly rain returned.
The wolf cowered—its tail and ears drooping—and flaunted a paw in the air.
Dieter focused on its eyes. He pictured the vacant image in Rusty’s eyes that horrible night, then dropped the revolver to his side.
The wolf moved to the water and lowered its head to leap. The river ran swift and deep at the top of the falls.
“No! Stop!”
Dieter sprinted for the bank and heaved the revolver at the wolf. The weapon flew over the animal’s head and splashed into the river as Dieter yelled again.
The wolf leapt into the river. The freezing water seemed to energize the animal and it paddled to keep its head above water—drifting swiftly downstream all the while.
Dieter raced along the bank, keeping pace with the wolf while the rain picked up force and hammered at his face. As he watched, the animal was caught in the eddy downstream from a boulder.
The wolf struggled against the roiling undertow, but it was clear in an instant that the current was too strong.
Dieter stooped to grab a dead tree limb and dragged it with him as he waded into the river. A voice behind him shouted, but he couldn’t make out the words.
The frigid water hit him like a fist in the stomach, the violent flow tugging at his legs. He tried to reach the drowning creature with the tree limb, but he was too far away.
He took a step toward the flailing wolf, and then another. Each movement brought a new battle to keep his footing against the relentless current. His legs and feet were becoming numb from the cold, but he inched forward and tried to stretch his overextended muscles enough to reach the floundering animal with the limb.
A stone must have rolled under his boot heel. His right foot slid to the side and he tried to recover his balance. Both feet gave way and he went down.
The river snatched him like a piece of litter caught in a storm drain. He thrashed about with his arms and legs and tried his damnedest to imitate what others did whenever he watched them swim.
The Gallatin hauled him hopelessly downstream. Again shouting erupted from the shore, but he couldn’t make out who was calling to him. He tumbled in somersaults and swallowed the river in gulps before slamming his ribcage into a log wedged between two boulders.
Blindly grabbing onto the log with both hands, he sputtered and coughed while he jerked himself above the surface.
The wolf had somehow gotten free of the eddy, but it was still at the mercy of the rushing water. It paddled feebly against the power of the river.
Dieter could only watch in agony as the majestic animal vanished over the rim of the falls.
Both arms clutching desperately to the log, Dieter was only seconds from the same fate. The frigid water turned the muscles of his neck and shoulders to stone. The shoreline appeared only as a haze, far removed from reality.
The shivering stopped. A surprising calm overtook him as he realized he was rapidly losing the strength to hold on. A preposterous way to die, really.
His thoughts turned to Michael and Megan, the many plans he’d made for them as he grew older and they grew up. I’m sorry, Fran. I’m sorry I let you down. And what would Josh think of his stupid blundering?
Would Fran be there to greet him?
It had been a lousy day for hunting.
A strange object flew directly at his head and splashed water into his face when it hit the surface. He flailed at it and attempted to push it away.
His wounded leg throbbing with each step, Josh led Rocko along the shore through the blowing rain, yelling at Dieter. His foolish partner couldn’t get out of the rapid current on his own. He stopped and pulled out the rope from beneath Rocko’s panniers. Creating several long loops with the rope, he could only hope it would be long enough to reach. He tied the end into a lasso, raised it over his head, and twirled. When he tossed the loop across the river, pain shot through his thigh like the stab of a dull knife.
The lasso splattered into the water nowhere close to the log. He dragged the rope back across the surface and cussed between heavy breaths. He made up more loops—larger ones this time. When he heaved the lasso into the air, he yelled out through the damned excruciating pain like a cowboy on a bronco.
FIFTY-TWO
How in God’s name could the youngest Scout be left behind?