Authors: Pat Murphy
Mrs. Selby shook her head in frustration. “You are being far too mysterious, Mr. Murphy.”
“My good Mrs. Selby, without mystery, life would be dull indeed.” Still smiling, he refused to answer another question.
The next time she saw Max, Mrs. Selby asked about how he knew Patrick Murphy, but Max said, “We met in Chicago,” and would say no more. Mrs. Selby’s curiosity remained unsatisfied.
In the hills, the wooden trunk remained safe in Wauna’s den. The jays pecked out Arno’s eyes; the coyotes gnawed his bones. And far from the questionable civilization of Selby Flats, Sarah lived among the wolves.
“All you need is ignorance and confidence; then success is sure.”
—Mark Twain
W
AUNA CARED FOR SARAH
as she would have cared for her own pup. She suckled Sarah when the child was hungry, washed her face and hands with a warm wet tongue, kept close watch over her.
Wauna took the girl to a sheltered hollow on the side of a hill protected on two sides by rocky outcroppings that offered small caves and crevices where wolf pups could hide. On the third side was a mixed stand of oak, incense cedar, and yellow pine. The fourth side was open to a wide forested valley.
There, under Wauna’s watchful eyes, Sarah played in the sunshine. By day, squirrels scampered and scolded in the oak trees; woodpeckers and jays foraged among the fallen leaves, searching for acorns left over from autumn. At night, Sarah listened to the quavering call of the screech owl, the chirping of the crickets. Sarah learned about the world around her—and she learned about the wolves.
A wolf pack is an extended family, connected by blood relationships and bonds of affection. The leaders of the pack are the alpha male and alpha female, patriarch and matriarch. All other members of the pack have positions on a social hierarchy, a complex network of relationships that dictate each animal’s behavior. In Sarah’s pack, Rolon and Wauna were the alpha pair.
In a pack, all the wolves—from the highest to the lowest—help care for the pups. When Wauna, the pack’s alpha female, took Sarah as her pup, the other wolves accepted her as such.
At first, the wolves let Sarah play as any pup plays. But gradually, they began teaching her that some things were not appropriate. When she tugged on Ruana’s ears, the young female nipped her softly until she let go. Then Ruana nuzzled Sarah’s face softly to reward the proper action. When Sarah stared at Rolon with an expression that offered a challenge, the male wolf growled softly and bowled her over. Then he stood over her and nudged her face until she looked away. From these lessons, Sarah learned the proper way to behave.
Wolves do not communicate with words, as humans do. They speak to each other in subtler ways. A movement of the ears can communicate anger; a shift in the angle at which the tail is held can indicate distrust; a lowering of the head can suggest an apology; a direct stare presents a challenge.
A wolf that is greeting a friend wags his tail, rubs against his friend, and maybe licks his friend’s muzzle or nudges his friend’s nose with his own. A friendly wolf signals his goodwill with his ears, pricking them up in interest or laying them back in a submissive gesture that indicates he has no interest in fighting. He may grin a wolfish grin, with lips pulled back and turned up at the corners. He may whine or make a sound that’s a little like humming, a cross between a moan and a whine that rises and falls in pitch. He may rear up to place his paws on his friend’s back or indulge in a wolfish hug, embracing his friend with one or both paws. In the ecstasies of greeting, he may softly grab his friend’s muzzle in his jaws in an affectionate love bite.
Sarah learned to read the body language of the wolves, becoming attentive to subtle signals that most humans would overlook. She could tell when Omuso would be glad to have her scratch his ragged right ear, torn in a fight long ago—and when it would be better to leave the old male alone. She played with Durand Duman and Yepa, rolling on the ground and growling puppy growls. She joined in the chorus each morning, when the wolves howled to greet the dawn. She howled with Wauna when the alpha female called to her packmates, summoning them to rendezvous.
Though she had no tail to wag, and her ears were useless for signaling her intentions, she learned to communicate her own feelings, adapting the signals used by the wolves to make herself understood. She could sniff noses, she could grin, she could whine and hum. Where a wolf might lick or use his jaws, she used her hands—grabbing a muzzle, scratching an ear, rubbing a chin. She could indicate that she wanted to play or solicit attention and grooming or warn a wolf away. Her packmates came to accept her gestures, reading her intentions as easily as they read each others’.
As a pup, Sarah was the lowest-ranking member of the pack—but she was also its most indulged member. Recognizing her frailty, the wolves treated her more gently than they would one of their own, nipping softly where they would have chastised a wolf pup more severely. Still, she learned to submit to a higher-ranking wolf, trustingly exposing her neck to the beast’s sharp teeth, whining low in her throat to communicate her surrender.
Like any child, Sarah explored her environment. In a moist, shady place, she found the plant known to some as miner’s lettuce, and feasted on the soft green leaves. She ate tender shoots of young clover. When Wauna brought her the remains of a kill, she teethed on scraps of dried meat and hide. But she preferred Wauna’s milk to the tough meat, and continued to suckle.
Over the passing weeks, Sarah gradually shed her clothing. She pulled off her underpants when she squatted to pee, then abandoned them where they fell. Inspired by the squirrels, she scrambled up into the low branches of one of the oaks. Once, when Dur was in a temper, she escaped the wolf by climbing higher than she ever had before. When her frock caught on a branch, she scrambled out of the garment and left it hanging in the tree. After a month in the wilderness, she wore only a tattered white petticoat that grew dingier with each passing day, and a pair of leather moccasins that her human mother had purchased from a friendly squaw on the trail westward.
Wauna worried about Sarah. This strange pup seemed healthy, but she was slow to develop, lacking the endurance and speed of a young wolf.
What worried Wauna more than anything else was Sarah’s lack of interest in meat. The first food that wolf pups eat is partially digested meat, regurgitated by wolves who have returned from the hunt. Pups beg for food by licking at the muzzles of adult members of the pack. Wolves also carry meat back from the hunt—for the pups and the adult wolf who stayed behind.
Unlike a wolf pup, Sarah did not beg for food. She ignored the meat that Wauna dragged to the sheltered hollow. Instead, Sarah continued to suckle, growing strong on the milk that would have nourished half a dozen wolf pups. For a time, Wauna was tolerant, indulging the strange pup and letting her continue to get her sustenance from milk. Having lost her own pups, Wauna was determined to keep this one healthy and strong.
Eventually, game grew scarce in the area around the hollow where Sarah stayed. The pack moved, and Sarah moved with it. Wauna stayed with the girl trailing behind the rest of the pack. The little girl walked as far as she could. When she tired, she draped herself over the mother wolf, lying on Wauna’s back with her arms locked around the wolf’s neck. Each day, Wauna would find a safe place to leave the girl while the pack hunted. Sometimes, Wauna stayed with her. Sometimes Yepa stayed.
One sunny, summer day, Sarah waited in a high Sierra meadow for the pack to return. Yepa was napping in the shade while Sarah explored the meadow.
She was hungry. The girl had suckled long after pups would have been weaned, and Wauna’s milk was drying up. That morning, when Sarah had tried to suckle, Wauna had curled up, hiding her tender nipples from the girl. When Sarah had persisted, Wauna growled softly and nipped at the child’s hand, gently warning her away. Wauna had little milk and little patience left.
In the meadow, Sarah found some tender clover and plantain leaves to eat. She devoured the leaves, but they did little to assuage her hunger. She was searching vainly for something to eat, when she noticed birds flitting among the branches of a blackberry bush on the edge of the meadow.
The birds flew away at her approach, chirping in protest at the disturbance. The birds had been feeding for some time, but a few blackberries remained on the branches. Sarah reached into the bush for a big berry. The thorns scratched her arm, but she got the berry and crammed it into her mouth. It tasted wonderful—sweet, ripe, and warm from the sun.
Thorns could not dissuade her. Patiently, carefully, she pushed her way through the branches. She found a berry that a bird had pecked and rejected, another that was only half-ripe. The little girl did not overlook any possibilities, finding and devouring the smallest and sourest of the wild berries with enthusiasm and relish.
Sarah was deep in the blackberry thicket when Wauna returned with the pack, carrying a piece of meat torn from the kill. Searching for her foster child, Wauna followed Sarah’s scent across the meadow.
A young cottontail rabbit was foraging in the meadow when Wauna returned. The rabbit saw the wolves, but when they showed no interest in him, he continued grazing. He was happily occupied in a patch of clover when Wauna suddenly appeared, bearing down on him.
Foolishly, the rabbit panicked and bolted from cover right under the mother wolf’s nose. Wauna dropped the meat that she carried and lunged for the fleeing cottontail. Instinctively, the rabbit fled toward the protective cover of the blackberry thicket.
Just as the cottontail was about to dive into the cover of the bramble patch, Sarah emerged from the bushes, scratched and grimy. She was still hungry, having been rewarded for her diligent search with just a few small berries. When the child stepped directly into the path of the fleeing rabbit, the animal changed direction abruptly. Fearing the human as much as the wolf, the panicked rabbit turned to one side.
Wauna was on him, her jaws closing on his neck. Still running, she snatched the rabbit off his feet, breaking his neck.
Sarah ran after Wauna, her childish squeals of excitement blending with the mother wolf’s growls. Wauna jerked her head and opened her jaws, tossing the cottontail to her foster child. Sarah, running on two legs as her human parents had taught her, snatched at the rabbit with both hands. She caught the carcass (more by luck than by skill) in a tight embrace. Throwing herself down on the meadow grass, she bit at the cottontail’s neck as she had seen Wauna do.
Sarah’s teeth were not sharp enough to penetrate the animal’s hide, but Wauna’s fangs had already torn the rabbit’s fur and bitten deep into the artery that carried blood to the animal’s brain. The rabbit’s heart, beating its last, pumped warm, salty blood into Sarah’s mouth. The girl swallowed, hungry for nourishment, sucking at the wound as she had at Wauna’s teat.
She growled like a young wolf then, pulling at the still warm carcass with her hands and teeth. A young girl is not equipped to rend and tear a carcass like a young wolf, but Wauna helped, nudging Sarah aside with her muzzle. Planting a paw on the carcass to hold it in place, Wauna ripped open the rabbit’s belly, exposing the soft internal organs.
Sarah plunged a tiny hand into the warm viscera and pulled out the liver. Cramming the organ into her mouth, she chewed happily as blood ran down her chin. She feasted on the heart and lungs, then licked rich blood from her hands. Finally, sated and smeared with blood, she curled up in the grass with her foster mother.
Wauna was happy that this strange pup had fed. Now she would grow strong. The mother wolf licked the girl clean, washing away the blood of the cottontail and cleaning the bramble scratches. Sarah laughed happily, warm in the sun and well fed at last.
Meanwhile, back in Selby Flat, Mrs. Selby was polishing her mirror. That morning, she had received a letter addressed to Max, sent care of Selby’s Hotel. From the return address Mrs. Selby knew that the letter came from Audrey North.
As she polished the mirror, Mrs. Selby thought sorrowfully of little Sarah. Without stopping her work, Mrs. Selby muttered a prayer for the little girl, a plea that she find happiness in her mother’s arms in heaven. Little did Mrs. Selby know that Sarah was far from heaven. Smeared with blood and dirt, in a wilderness meadow, Sarah had indeed found happiness and a mother’s love.
An hour later, Sarah woke from her sleep and licked blood from her lips. She was not a young wolf—no, she could not be that—but she had taken a step toward savagery and survival. She had eaten raw meat and relished it. She wanted more.
Wauna was a patient teacher. Under her tutelage, little Sarah learned to flush rabbits and mice and ground squirrels and quail from cover and send them running into Wauna’s jaws. Once, when a young quail was slow to escape, Sarah snatched up the bird and broke its neck, her first kill.
Hunting and killing became a part of her life. Like her savage ancestors, she ate her meat raw, licking blood from her hands and relishing the salty taste of it.
Having learned to eat the fresh meat from these kills, Sarah began supplementing that diet with meat from the pack’s kills, which Yepa and Wauna brought her. She could not bite through the hide of a downed deer as her packmates could, but she could pick at the scraps of flesh once the hide was torn away by the teeth of the wolves.
In the afternoons, while the pack rested and played, she foraged for other foods. She competed with the birds for the fruits of a variety of plants, snacking on wild strawberries, gooseberries, thimbleberries, and Sierra plums. Craving greens, she ate the leaves of miner’s lettuce and clover.
She had the face of a cherub-sweet blue eyes and delicate features surrounded by a halo of red-gold hair—but she was as dirty as any child could ever hope to be. Her hair was a glorious tangle; her face, smeared with berry juice; her arms and legs tanned from the sun. But she was happy for all of that. She hunted, and she thrived in her new family.