After following the tracks Chen and Yang had made the day before for more than two hours, they arrived at the bramble-infested ravine. The spade was still stuck where Chen had left it, but there were fresh adult tracks on the berm. The rocks and dirt with which Chen and Yang had sealed up the entrance had not been disturbed; apparently the spade had frightened the female off. The dogs grew agitated as soon as they neared the sealed-up entrance, and began sniffing around; Erlang was restless, his eyes glowing with vengeance. Chen pointed to the nearby slope and called out, “Go.” The two dogs turned and followed the scents up the hill, each taking a different path, as the men went up to the second opening, where they found more fresh tracks. The seal there was also undisturbed. Dorji sent the others off to look for more openings, but before they’d made two turns around the area, Erlang and Yellow began barking off to the north. Abandoning their search, they turned and rode up the hill, Chen taking his spade with him.
When they reached the top of the hill, they spotted the dogs down below. Erlang was pawing at the ground and barking wildly; Yellow was helping. Dirt flew. “They’ve found the litter!” Dorji shouted as the four men rode down the slope, their horses nearly losing their footing on the loose rocks, until they were alongside the dogs, where they slid down out of their saddles. Instead of making way for their masters, the dogs kept digging; Erlang stopped every few moments to stick his muzzle in the hole, impatient to drag out whatever was in there. Chen walked up, wrapped his arms around the dog, and dragged him away. He was discouraged by what he saw: a hole no wider than a few inches had been opened in the ground, a far cry from the large dens he’d seen up to then. There was no berm, just some loose dirt covering the snowy surface, which the dogs had already trampled.
With a sneer, Gao Jianzhong said, “You call this a wolf’s den? A rabbit burrow is more like it, or home to some field mice.”
“Look closer,” Dorji said calmly. “This is a new hole. The dirt has been dug recently, and I’ll bet this is where she moved her cubs.”
Chen was not so sure. “Even a new hole would be bigger than this, wouldn’t it? How could an adult wolf squeeze through that?”
“It’s only temporary,” Dorji said. “Female wolves are thin enough that she could make it through. She’ll have left her cubs here and will have a new, permanent den somewhere else in a few days.”
“I don’t care if it’s a wolf or a rabbit,” Yang said, holding out the spade, “as long as it’s alive. We’re not going back empty-handed. Stand clear, I’ll start digging.”
Dorji went up and stopped him. “First let me see how deep it is, and whether or not there’s anything in it.” He picked up his lasso pole, turned it front to back, stuck the thick end into the hole, and moved it around. When it reached three feet or so he smiled. “There’s something down there,” he said, “something soft. Here, you try it.”
Chen took the pole and poked around. He too felt something soft and springy, and could barely contain his excitement. “There is something down there! There definitely is. Let’s hope it’s cubs.”
Yang and Gao each took turns and came to the same conclusion- there was something down there and it was alive. But none of them was quite willing to believe it was a litter of wolf cubs.
Dorji stuck the pole in as far as it would go, put his hand on it at the opening, and slowly pulled it out; he laid it on the ground following the direction of the tunnel below to determine the location of what they’d felt down there. He stood up, paced off the distance, and announced, “Dig here, but be careful; we don’t want to injure the cubs.”
Chen grabbed the spade away from Yang and asked, “How deep?”
“A couple of feet. The warmth from a litter of cubs is enough to soften the frozen earth, so don’t push too hard.”
After scraping away the snow above the spot, Chen placed the tip of the spade on the ground and gently stepped down, slowly increasing the pressure. The dirt caved in, and the dogs made a mad dash for the sunken tunnel, barking wildly. Chen felt the blood rush to his head, which began to throb. To him, this was more exciting than digging up a Han Dynasty tomb site, and brought a greater sense of accomplishment. In the midst of the fallen dirt, a litter of baby wolves, with gray coats and patches of black wolf hairs, came into view. “Wolf cubs! Wolf cubs!” all three students shouted after a moment of disbelief. Chen and Yang stood there immobilized.
“Why do I think I’m dreaming?” Yang said. “We really, actually got ourselves a litter of cubs.”
“Who’d have thought you two Beijing blind cats could stumble on a litter of Mongolian wolf cubs?” Gao smiled wickedly. “I wasted days preparing for a fight.”
Chen squatted down, carefully brushed the dirt off the cubs, and took a count. There were seven, each barely bigger than his palm, seven tiny heads snuggled up in a bunch, like a single, unmoving organism. Their eyes were partially open, covered with thin membranes, blue and moist, with little black dots in the center. “I’ve been looking for you for a very long time,” he said silently, “and now here you are.”
“These were born about three weeks ago,” Dorji said. “Their eyes are just about open.”
“Are they asleep?” Chen asked. “Why aren’t they moving?”
“Wolves are born sneaks,” Dorji replied. “All that barking and shouting a moment ago woke them up for sure. They’re playing dead. Pick one up if you don’t believe me.”
For the first time in his life, Chen was about to hold a living wolf in his hands, and he wavered. Picking one up by the ear, he held it between his thumb and forefinger. It didn’t move, its legs hung limply-no wolf-like reaction, no resistance, more like a dead kitten than a live wolf. Chen held it up so that they could all get a close look. He’d seen puppies that close before, and was immediately aware of differences between wild and domesticated canines. A puppy was born with a neat, glossy coat. But not a wolf cub. Granted, it had a coat of fine, soft gray fur, but mixed in were long, bristly, black wolf hairs. The cub’s head was black and shiny, as if coated with tar. Its eyes were only partially open, but its tiny fangs were fully formed, sticking out ferociously between the lips. Having been dug out of the ground, it carried the smells of dirt and wolf. No puppy ever smelled like that. But in the eyes of Chen Zhen, this was the noblest, the most treasured, the most beautiful little creature anywhere.
All the time he was holding the cub by the ear, it played dead, not moving a muscle, not making a sound. But when he touched its chest, he could feel the tiny heartbeat, frighteningly fast. “Put it down on the ground,” Dorji said, “and see what it does.” As soon as it touched the ground, the cub sprang to life and crawled as fast as it could away from the humans and the dogs. It moved like a windup car. Yellow was on top of it in two or three strides and was about to sink his teeth into it when all four men shouted for him to stop. Chen ran over, scooped up the cub, and stuffed it into his canvas schoolbag. Yellow glared angrily at Chen, a look that said he wanted to kill the thing to vent some of his loathing. Erlang, on the other hand, as Chen discovered, had just stared at the cub and wagged his tail.
Chen opened his bag, and the other men leaped into action, like boys out in the Beijing suburbs stealing birds’ eggs. Reaching and grabbing, they emptied the den of cubs, one at a time, holding them by the ears and dumping them into Chen’s canvas bag. After tying off the opening, Chen hung the bag from his saddle and prepared to head back.
Dorji looked around. “The mother is around here somewhere, so let’s take the long way around. Otherwise, she’ll follow us all the way to camp.”
The three students were suddenly aware that danger lurked nearby and that there were tiny wolves in Chen’s canvas bag, the very animals that caused such fear in the hearts of Han Chinese.