Firstborn (15 page)

Then I heard a muffled drone.

Of all wingless species, human beings are the only ones who've managed to do something about their bird envy. They can actually get off the ground. But only in deafening, ungainly machines. I'd always considered these contraptions loathsome. Birds can get sucked into the engines and turned to mincemeat. But as one of these planes rumbled by overhead, probably on its way to the nearest airport, I was grateful for it. Like all cats, mountain lions are skittish beasts. One of the pair bounded away on Lamar's right, the other on his left. Lamar whirled around, but the cats had gone.

I was perched on some scree under the canyon's north wall. Now I flew over to a lichen-covered rock next to Lamar. He was panting as I'd never seen him, his sides heaving.

“It goes to show that humans aren't all bad,” I said.

Once he caught his breath, he said:

“You're the one we should thank.”

“We?” I said.

He turned to the back of the canyon. But there was no sign of Artemis. As soon as the plane had distracted her torturers, she'd fled for her life.

I FOLLOWED LAMAR BACK TO
the knoll in the waning daylight. I expected him to race to the top, but he curled up under a spruce near the bottom.

“Don't you want to see if Artemis is around?” I said.

“I can't go up there,” he said. “I never found her any food.”

Evidently he didn't think facing down two mountain lions on her behalf made up for this. I considered spending the night in the spruce, but Sully's comment about my being “solitary” gave me a hankering for the pack.

Though there were vestiges of the sunset in the western sky when I landed in my aspen, the wolves had turned in. Blue Boy was sleeping by himself, which made me think Alberta had gone into the den to get ready to whelp her litter. Frick and Hope were curled up close by. Raze, Lupa, and Ben were farther up the slope. I wondered if any of them, even Blue Boy, had noticed that I'd been gone since midday. I was afraid they'd started thinking of me as little more than a scavenging hanger-on.

Despite all the flying I'd done that day, I was too fretful to sleep. And when I finally stuck my head under my wing, the sound of voices soon made me pull it back out. Raze and Lupa had come down the slope to talk in private. Their utter obliviousness to me didn't lift my spirits.

“Just yesterday you said you felt sorry for her for being so puffy and bloated,” Raze said.

“But in a month she'll be coming out looking radiant,” Lupa complained, “with a new litter in tow.”

“Alberta could never look as good as you,” Raze said.

“That may be, but I'm sick of her always taking precedence.”

“Then let's do like we talked about. Ben's on board.”

“If we leave to start a new pack, Blue Boy'll come after us and tear us to shreds.”

“If he tries, I'll finish what that buffalo started.”

“You really think you'd stand a chance, even with that wound of his?”

For a while there was only the burbling of the creek.

“We'll wait till the pups come out,” Raze finally said. “He'll be in such a good mood, he won't care.”

“He'll expect us to help feed them.”

“Okay, when the pups join the hunt. Then he won't miss us.”

“But you said this den site was your birthright. Where are we going to find such a perfect spot?”

If I hadn't been feeling sorry for myself, I might almost have felt sorry for Raze. For every answer he gave, Lupa had a retort.

They finally retreated up the slope to sleep, and I dozed off. In the morning I heard a magpie joining in with the thrushes and nuthatches across the creek to welcome the new day. Since coming to Yellowstone, I'd made a point of avoiding the local magpies, but I flew over now and struck up a conversation with this one, who was perched in a lodgepole pine. He was quite handsome, if a little young, and single. He even had a nest—an abandoned one he'd happened upon nearby.

“I don't suppose you'd like to see it?” he said.

“Why do you think that?”

“Birds say you're standoffish.”

“That's ridiculous.”

“Oh, good—I think you'll like it,” he said eagerly. “I've done a lot of decorating.”

“Decorating” should have set off warning bells, but I flew with him to see the nest. It was appalling. He was a worse trash collector than Dan. The floor was littered with bottle caps and paper clips and foil wrappers. On the walls were a rusted Smoky the Bear pin, an empty trail-mix bag, and a wilted 3-D postcard of Old Faithful. Like most magpie nests, his was hooded, and a laminated park-ranger badge hanging from the ceiling by a lanyard twisted slowly in the breeze.

“Isn't it great?” he cried. “All it needs is some eggs!”

“A pity I'm too old for that sort of thing,” I said.

His face fell. It wasn't true, but I would have rather had my tail feathers plucked than be stuck egg sitting for weeks on end in that junkyard.

When I got back to my aspen, the wolves were up. The buffalo meat was almost gone, and Blue Boy, looking almost like his old self, ignored Frick's suggestion that he rest up another day. Hope went on the hunt too. I stayed behind with Frick, thinking that without Hope or Lamar he might appreciate my company. But he seemed content to sit watching the sun rise in the robin's egg blue sky.

When the hunters returned, Blue Boy set a piece of elk meat in the den entrance for Alberta and lay down to digest the meal he must have had at the kill site. I wanted to tell him what I'd overheard last night, but since he didn't so much as glance my way I kept my beak shut. I stayed in a sulky mood till late afternoon, when I flew over to the knoll. Lamar was in his usual spot. I asked after Artemis.

“Haven't seen her yet, but at least I got her something,” Lamar said, nodding at an offering in the cave. “Thanks again for yesterday, Maggie. If those horrible cats had gotten her, I don't know what I would have done.”

Sully was right about Lamar having good manners. For what are good manners, after all, but making others feel better? Grateful as I was to feel of
some
use, however, his focus understandably wasn't on me. I watched the top of the cliff along with him. The sun set, and a gibbous moon rose—and finally Artemis appeared. Her fur was a dusty gold in the moonlight, and her eyes, so panicked yesterday, sparkled playfully as she sniffed the air.

“It's mule deer,” Lamar told her. “I got him by Soda Butte.”

“I never tried mule deer,” she said.

“It's a thigh. I hope you like it.”

“Would you mind . . . ?”

Lamar trotted away. Once he was on the far side of a gulch, Artemis circled down off the cliff and sampled the deer. By bird standards her table manners were crude, but compared to wolves, she ate primly. When she finished, she hiked back up to her perch, and Lamar returned to his previous spot.

“What do you think?” he said.

“Well, it's filling,” she said. “Oh, wow! Did you catch it?”

“By Soda Butte, like I said.”

“I meant that shooting star.”

I searched the night sky along with him. “Darn,” he said.

“It was a beauty,” Artemis said. “Oh, and you won't believe what I saw this afternoon.”

“What?” Lamar said.

“An osprey dropped a fish, and a bear grabbed it in midair.”

“I thought osprey never dropped fish.”

“They never do. It was unique.”

Lamar turned my way and said in an undertone: “What's ‘unique'?”

“Something that happens only once,” I said.

Artemis added something, but too softly to make out.

“Excuse me, Artemis?” Lamar said.

“I said, ‘Like a wolf saving a coyote from mountain lions.' ”

“Oh, but I'd do the same thing if it happened again.”

“Well, let's hope it remains unique.”

With that, Artemis disappeared.

“I don't think ‘filling' means she liked the mule deer much,” Lamar said with a sigh.

“I've heard more ringing endorsements,” I said.

“Vole's her favorite. I'll try to catch her one tomorrow.”

I didn't find out if he succeeded. Though Lamar made me feel welcome, I sensed that three was a crowd on the knoll.

I returned to my usual routine, hanging out in my aspen and accompanying the pack on the hunt. It should have been a joyful time. Herds of elk and pronghorn had migrated back up into the valley, which was turning greener by the day. And a few days later the sound of newborns could be heard from the den: at least four different yaps. But with no Lamar around, and Frick so content, and Blue Boy so focused on the den, I felt more useless than ever.

One morning Blue Boy got up with the sun and padded down the hill. I figured he wanted a drink from the creek, but he stopped under my aspen and looked up at me.

“Have you seen him?” he asked.

“Who?” I said—though of course I knew.

“Lamar.”

“Not lately.”

“He just took off—not even a good-bye. Wolves don't usually disperse till after they're two, you know. Why do you think he did?”

“You don't have any ideas?”

Blue Boy sniffed. “He did question the way I treated my brother . . .”

“Don't forget how devastated he was when we lost Rider. He's a sensitive wolf.”

“Sensitive wolf,” Blue Boy said, spitting out the words. But then he sighed. “If he'd just taken off like a normal hotheaded kid instead of sticking around to make sure . . .”

“You had that buffalo to tide you over,” I said, finishing his thought. “Do you miss him?”

Blue Boy didn't reply.

“There's nothing wrong with missing him,” I said. “He is your son.”

“Where'd he go, Maggie?”

“Why ask me?”

“You think I didn't notice how you stayed home from the hunt the same days he did?”

I admit it was good to hear he paid attention to my movements. “I may have seen him a while back.”

“Where?” he pressed.

“You can't tell him I told you.”

“I won't.”

I pointed my beak to the southeast. “There's a rocky knoll down that away.”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

“And Blue Boy?”

“Hmm?”

“There's something you might be interested to know about Raze and Lupa.”

“That they're planning to go off and start their own pack with Ben?”

“How'd you know?” I said, stupefied.

“I may not have a bird's-eye view of things, but I have eyes and ears. Coming on the hunt today?”

Brooding can make you lose weight, and when you start at half a pound, you can't afford to lose much. So I went. With Blue Boy and Hope both on the road to full recovery, the pack made short work of a tawny elk cow who'd strayed from her herd. After filling his belly, Blue Boy tore off a nice portion for Alberta and her brood, but the rest of us remained at the kill site and stuffed ourselves. I woke shamefully late the next morning. The wolves were even more lethargic, except for Blue Boy. He was gone—on an expedition to the southeast, I suspected.

Blue Boy got back before the other wolves stirred, and he parked himself under my aspen, which was now stippled with tight red buds.

“You were right about that knoll,” he said. “When you see him from below, you realize how big he's gotten.”

“Almost as big as you. Did you talk?”

“No. There was a coyote on the summit. I figured he was stalking her, so I kept quiet. But when I crept a little closer I realized he wasn't stalking—he was talking! To a coyote! She didn't look the least bit worried. Relaxed muzzle, ears back. Seemed interested in what he was saying.”

In all the time I'd known Blue Boy, I'd never heard him string so many words together. “What was he saying?” I asked.