Acknowledging the truth of the old man’s words, Chen breathed deeply and, despite his mixed feelings, scraped out a spot in the snow and ice. But as he was placing the trap in the indentation, his hands shook again; this time it was from fear over what could happen if he wasn’t careful with this, his first attempt. As the old man stood beside him giving instructions, he stuck his herding club into the trap’s gaping mouth; if it accidentally snapped shut, the club would keep Chen’s hand from getting caught. He felt a warm current throughout his body; with the old man standing by to help, he managed to stop his hands from shaking and laid his first trap without incident. As he was mopping his brow, he discovered that Bilgee was sweating more than he was.
“Young man,” Bilgee said after exhaling his relief, “you do the next one all by yourself. I think you’re ready.”
Chen nodded and walked back to the cart to get two more traps. Picking a spot by a second horse carcass, he carefully laid the third trap; then they each took two of the final four traps and set them separately, the old man telling Bayar to assist Chen.
The sky remained overcast as dusk settled in. After examining Chen’s work, the old man smiled and said, “You’ve concealed them well. If I were a wolf, you’d get me for sure. But it’s getting late. What do we do now?”
“Well, I’d say we use a broom to remove our footprints and count our tools to make sure we don’t leave anything behind.”
“You’ve learned a bit of cunning,” the old man said approvingly.
They began sweeping, from where they’d started all the way back to the wagon, inspecting their work as they went along. “How many wolves do you think we’ll catch with these traps?” Chen asked as he was putting away the tools.
“Don’t ask about numbers when you’re hunting. You won’t catch anything if you do. After the people do their job, they leave the rest to Tengger.”
They mounted up and, pulling the wagon behind them, rode off.
“Will we come back tomorrow morning to see how we’ve done?” Chen asked.
“We can’t go back, whether we get any or not. If we catch one, we need to give the pack plenty of time to see what’s happening. They’ll get suspicious when no one comes to claim their prey, and they’ll surround the dead horse site to figure out what to do next. The job we’ve been given isn’t to trap a few wolves, but to draw the pack out. No need for you to come here tomorrow. I’ll check things out from a distance.”
They made their way home in a good mood. Chen was thinking about a litter of wolf cubs and was planning to ask Bilgee how he should go about getting one, knowing it was a dangerous, difficult type of hunting that required exceptional skill, but was also one of the most important means of controlling the rampant growth of wolf packs. Wiping out one den of cubs meant one less wolf pack to worry about. But wolves call upon their highest powers of intellect and most ferocious skills in order to keep their young safe. Chen had heard tales of gripping adventure and lucky escapes regarding the theft of wolf cubs, and he was mentally prepared to take on the challenge. Two spring seasons had passed since the hundred or more students had come to the grassland, and none of them had single-handedly stolen a litter of cubs. Chen knew there was no guarantee that he’d be the first, yet he’d planned to accompany Bilgee as often as necessary to learn how it was done. But after the killing of the horse herd, the old man had no time for cubs, and all Chen could do was ask him to pass on his experience.
“Papa,” he said, “while I was tending sheep the other day, a female wolf took one of my lambs right under my eyes and carried it up to Black Rock Mountain. She must have a den up there, and I’m thinking of going back tomorrow. I was going to ask you to go with me…”
“I can’t tomorrow,” Bilgee said. “There’s too much to do around here. You say she went up to Black Rock Mountain?”
“Yes.”
The old man stroked his beard. “Did you follow her?”
“No. She was too fast for me. There was no time.”
“That’s good. If you had, she’d have led you on a wild-goose chase. They won’t return to their dens if they’re being chased.” The old man paused a moment. “She’s a clever wolf,” he said. “Last spring the production teams found three dens with cubs up there, so this year no one’s going back. I’m amazed that a wolf would go there to have her cubs. You can go tomorrow, but take others with you, and plenty of dogs. Make sure you take brave and experienced herdsmen. I don’t want you and Yang to try it alone; it’s far too dangerous.”
“What’s the hardest challenge?” Chen asked.
“There are plenty of things to worry about,” the old man replied, “but finding the den is the hardest. I’ll tell you how to do it. Get up before dawn and find a spot high up in the mountains. Lie there until just before sunup, then scan the area with binoculars. After hunting all night, the wolf will be coming back to feed her cubs. If you see where she goes, that’ll be where her den is. Start a circular search with some good dogs, and you should be able to locate it. But then you’re faced with the difficult task of actually getting the litter, and that means dealing with an angry mother wolf. Be very careful.” His eyes became veiled. “If not for the loss of those horses,” he said, “I wouldn’t let you do this. Stealing wolf cubs is normally something old people on the Olonbulag are reluctant to do.”
Chen didn’t dare ask any more questions. Bilgee had been incensed over the decision to launch a large-scale raid on wolf dens, and Chen was afraid he’d stop him from going if he pressed the issue. And yet stealing wolf cubs required knowledge; since his goal was to raise a cub, not kill it, he’d have to move quickly, not waiting until the cubs were weaned and had opened their eyes. He planned to check with Batu, the best wolf hunter in the brigade. Still incensed over the loss of the horses, he would definitely share his experience with Chen.
Night had fallen by the time they made it back to the old man’s yurt. Inside, the rug had been restored to its original state; three lanterns in which sheep’s oil burned lit up the spacious yurt, and the squat table in the center was laid out with platters of fresh-from-the-pot blood sausage, sheep’s stomach and intestines, and fatty meat, all emitting fragrant steam. The stomachs of the three hardworking men growled. Chen took off his deel and sat at the table; Gasmai laid the platter of sheep gut in front of him, since that was his favorite, then picked up a platter of the old man’s favorite, sheep breast, and placed it in front of him. She then handed Chen a little bowl of sauce made of Beijing soy paste and grassland mushrooms; it was what he liked to dip the fatty lamb in. The condiment had become a staple in both yurts. Chen cut off a slice of meat, dipped it in the sauce, and put it in his mouth; it was so delicious he all but forgot about the wolf cub. What they called fatty sheep intestine, the finest meat available in the grassland, wasn’t fatty at all. About a foot in length, it was stuffed with strips of greaseless sheep stomach, small intestines, and strips of diaphragm. In short, while it was made of sheep parts that were normally discarded, it was a vital part of any Mongol banquet, crisp and chewy, fleshy but not greasy.
“You Mongols aren’t wasteful when it comes to consuming a sheep. Instead of throwing away the diaphragm, you turn it into a delicious dish.”
“When hungry wolves eat sheep,” the old man said with a nod, “they finish it off-fur, hooves, everything. When natural disasters hit the grassland, finding food isn’t easy, not for people and not for wolves, which is why every part of a sheep is consumed.”