Yang nodded. “I think raising this wolf will be good for more than just studying wolves. We can also study human nature, wolf nature, and domestication. It’s a condition you can’t find in the city or in farming areas, other than people perhaps and their pets.”
“But if you don’t study them in tandem with wolf nature, you’ll never come up with anything worthwhile.”
“You’re right,” Yang agreed happily. “Our first day has already produced rewards.”
The commotion in the dog pen, and the whining protestation of the bullied pups increased Yir’s suspicions and vigilance. She fought to break free of Chen’s grip and see what was happening down there. Worried she might spot the cub and kill it, he held her head down and softly called her name, rubbing and stroking her to keep her calm until the cub’s belly was full. She managed to turn her head enough to see that there was an extra puppy in her den, and sniffed out the wolf. Maybe because the wolf had some of her milk on its body, she hesitated briefly, then nudged it away with her nose and struggled to get to her feet and step out of the den, where the light was better, to see what was going on.
But Chen pushed her down again; it was important for her to learn what he needed, and he was counting on her to accept this new reality, to obey, not resist. She began to whimper, appearing to comprehend that her master had brought a wolf cub back from the mountains and put it into her den with the idea of having her nurture one of her mortal enemies. Several times she tried to stand and pull her nipple out of the wolf’s mouth, but Chen kept pushing her back down. She was angry, agitated, uncomfortable, and disgusted, but she didn’t dare disobey her master and was forced to lie down indignantly and not move.
Calm gradually returned to the den. Yir was the first bitch Yang and Chen had raised, and they had lavished attention on her during her pregnancy, when the litter was born, and throughout the nursing period, with good food, good drink, and whatever else she needed. She had plenty of milk; in fact, after several of her litter had been taken away, she had more than she needed. The additional mouth, the wolf cub, had no effect on her supply, and even though her own three puppies had been pushed over to thinner teats, they slowly ate their fill, then crawled up onto their mother’s back and neck, where they began playfully nipping at one another’s tails and ears. The wolf cub was still suckling.
Chen looked on, and did not like what he was seeing. The cub’s belly was already more bloated than those of the puppies, so he reached down and touched it. It was taut as a drum and thin as paper. He worried that it might actually pop at that rate, so he pulled it back gently by the neck. But the cub refused to let go, stretching the nipple two inches and drawing yelps of pain from Yir. Yang anxiously reached down and pinched the sides of the cub’s mouth, finally breaking the connection. He breathed a cold sigh of relief. “Herdsmen say that wolves’ stomachs are made of rubber. I believe it.”
Chen was visibly pleased. “What an appetite!” he said. “He’s full of life; raising this one shouldn’t be hard. From now on, we’ll let him eat as much as he wants.”
Night had fallen, so Chen returned the cub to his den and put one of the female pups in with him so he’d feel comfortable around her even before the membranes fell from his eyes. He wanted them to become friends. They sniffed each other, Yir’s milk closing the distance between them; then they curled up together and slept. Chen spotted Erlang standing nearby, watching the cub and observing his master’s every move, wagging his tail, the sweep a little broader than before, as if to show his approval to his master for taking in a baby wolf. Just to be safe, Chen covered the little den with a wooden plank and held it down with a large rock.
Honest, sincere Gombu, so easy to get along with, had already penned the sheep, and when he heard that Chen and the others had stolen a litter of wolf cubs, he ran over with his flashlight to take a look. He spotted the five little pelts on top of the yurt and was shocked. “Here on the Olonbulag, no Han Chinese has ever taken a litter of wolves. Never. That’s the truth.”
As the three students sat around the metal stove eating lamb noodles, the sounds of barking dogs and running horses entered from the outside. A moment later, Zhang Jiyuan parted the felt curtain and opened the door. Squatting in the doorway, holding the reins of two horses, which were stamping their hooves, he said, “Headquarters says the big wolf pack has drifted back in smaller groups, and they’ve ordered all three production brigades to begin the encirclement hunt tomorrow. The northwest sector is our responsibility, with the help of some hunters from other brigades, and under the overall command of Bilgee. The brigade leaders want you to assemble at Bilgee’s yurt at one in the morning. Everyone but most of the old people and children, who will tend the cows and sheep, is expected to be part of the hunt. The horse herders will make sure everyone has a horse, and they’ll arrive at the ambush sites ahead of the rest of us. Get some sleep. I’m going now. Make sure, make absolutely sure, that you don’t oversleep.”
Zhang shut the door, jumped into the saddle, and rode off.
Gao Jianzhong put down his bowl, pulled a long face, and said, “We just got our little wolf, and now the big ones are here. These wolves are going to be the death of me.”
“A few more years out here on the grassland, and we might become wolves ourselves,” Yang Ke said.
They began making preparations for the hunt. Gao ran out to the pasture to bring their horses back to the hay enclosure, leaving them just outside while he ran in, picked up a pitchfork, and carried out three piles of hay. Yang fed the dogs some sheep bones and some lamb he took from a willow basket and checked the saddles, belly straps, and lasso poles. Then he helped Chen Zhen find a couple of leather dog collars. They had participated in small-scale hunts before and knew the importance of dog collars and leashes. Chen fastened one of the collars around Erlang’s neck and threaded a leash through the metal ring, then held both ends in his hand. He led the dog a few steps; then he pointed to the northern edge of the sheep pen, shouted “Go!” and released one end of the leash. Erlang ran over, turning the two lengths of rope into one, which came out of the ring. He ran into the dark night wearing only the collar, the long leash still in Chen Zhen’s hand. Handling dogs this way during a hunt meant the dogs were always under the hunter’s control, which kept them from going off on their own and throwing the hunt into confusion. At the same time, many dogs could be used without tangling them up in the leashes and slowing them down.
Yang Ke did the same to Yellow, threading the leash and practicing once. Both dogs obeyed commands, and the men’s actions were flawless, keeping the dogs from running off with the leashes.
12
The men and horses of the production brigade, along with a pack of hunting dogs, raced through the inky blackness behind Bilgee, heading northwest on the open grassland. Every man had at least one dog; some had two. Winds from the northwest hit them full in the face, neither softly nor with excessive force. A dense cloud cover pressed down on the land, blotting out all light from the moon and stars. Unrelieved darkness surrounded them; even the snow on the ground was invisible. Chen Zhen was tempted to strike a match to see if his eyes were still functioning.