White Feather 3-Book Bundle. Jennifer Dance

for me,” Red Wolf pleaded in panic. He forced himself to calm down and do what HeWhoWhistles would do: he searched for paw tracks, snapped twigs, bruised leaves. Slowly he followed the wolf’s trail through the dense forest. Suddenly blue sky greeted him and great slabs of granite sloped toward Black Lake. Crooked Ear was standing in the water, drinking. The boy felt a wave of relief.

      Even when he raised his head, Crooked Ear remained in the water. Meanwhile, Red Wolf searched for a strong stick and sharpened it to a point. In quick succession he speared three fish. He tossed two to Crooked Ear, who swallowed them whole, but he cooked his fish over a fire.

      Red Wolf didn’t notice in the disappearing light that grey clouds had gathered. He curled up close to the fire, the rabbit skin jacket covering him from head to toe. Crooked Ear limped in three tight circles and flopped down beside him. He licked his paw a few more times then tucked his nose into his chest, wrapped his thick bushy tail around his body, and went to sleep.

      Not long after dawn, Red Wolf was awakened by the complaint of a chickadee that plumped up its feathers against the brisk air. Red Wolf sat up, surprised when a light dusting of snow slid from him. He looked for Crooked Ear, but the wolf was gone. He called out urgently, and a black-tipped nose poked out from under the snow. Crooked Ear heaved himself up and made a half-hearted attempt to shake before flopping down and lethargically licking his wounded leg.

      Red Wolf was dismayed. The leg was swollen to twice its normal size. Anxiety tensed his stomach into a knot. He looked at the sky. Light snow swirled through the treetops and he shivered. I must get home … the weather is getting bad … I have no food. But Crooked Ear can’t walk! If I go without him, what will become of him? I can’t leave him.

      He rebuilt the fire and sat by it until his shivering stopped. He speared more fish and held one under Crooked Ear’s nose, but the wolf wouldn’t eat. He tried to build a shelter, but cutting through the spruce boughs was too difficult. He crawled under the low-lying branches of a dense stand of cedars. The thick foliage kept most of the snow from the ground, and it smelled good. Crooked Ear limped after the boy. The child gently stroked the wolf’s head. His nose was hot. The boy knew that fever often killed children. He presumed it killed wolves, too.

      He fingered his pendant and prayed to the spirit wolves he hoped were still guarding him. “Help us, please.”

      He didn’t know what else to do.

      CHAPTER TWENTY

      The Indian agent had lost a lot of time by diverting into town and riling up the farmers with his story of child-eating wolves. Crooked Ear was, of course, the primary target of his revenge, but by the time the effect of the poison bait rippled through the environment, the wolf was long gone. The Indian agent didn’t waste any emotion on other wild animals that he knew would feed on the bait: bears, foxes, raccoons, martens, and wolverines. These animals were disposable as far as he was concerned, so he spared no thought for them or their abandoned offspring. Had he realized that birds such as ravens, vultures, crows, jays, and owls would also die when they fed on poisoned carcasses, he would not have cared much either. As long as the woodlands continued to harbour game animals such as deer, elk, and rabbits he was happy. He had no knowledge that rain and melting snow would carry poison into the streams, rivers, ponds, and lakes, contaminating the fish and waterbirds he enjoyed on his dinner plate from time to time.

      The Indian agent was focused on one thing alone: catching 366. He cantered, hoping to catch up before the trail went cold. He sensed a shift in the wind and looked up. Clouds scudded from the north. It was not a good sign and he knew it would be wise to turn around and head home. If he got caught in an early snowstorm, the footing would be difficult and the going slow. It would be sensible to let the Mounties pick up the boy from the reserve when the weather improved.

      He reined in the gelding and called to the dog, but the animal was snuffling through the dirt and vegetation fifty yards ahead, and ignored his master’s command. The dog had picked up a fresh scent! Excitement coursed through the Indian agent and a sadistic grin lit his face. “So, Horse Thief, you’re close by, eh?”

      His joints were stiff with cold, and when he dismounted his feet hit the ground like two bricks, sending a jolt right through him, but he was elated. He kicked at the remains of the boy’s fire to see if there were any glowing embers. A look of satisfaction spread over his face; he wasn’t far behind. He cast around for any sign of wolves, fear tugging at his gut, although with his rifle slung over his shoulder, he felt braver. The only paw prints he saw were from his dog. The animal had trampled the area in his excitement, inhaling the feral smells that encircled the boy’s bed.

      A few minutes earlier the agent had been ready to turn for home, but sensing that he was within striking range, he wanted to press on. However, the light was fading. It would soon be dark. He decided to make camp and catch the boy in the morning.