Free Spirit Wolf by Gary D. Svee Page A

climbing down from the roan: “I’m sorry, Mary. But I’ve got bad news. Nash didn’t make it. The wolf got him. He was sitting there on a log, defecating (he would use the word defecating so as not to offend Mary), and the wolf sneaked up behind him and grabbed him. There was nothing he could do, what with his pants down around his knees. He tried to get up, but the pants dumped him right there in the snow.”
    And then his father would laugh. He wouldn’t be able to help it, any more than August in Montana could help being hot or January cold. He would be truly sorry about Nash going and all, but he would laugh just the same. And Nash bet his mother would laugh too. He’d be dead, and they’d be sitting around laughing at the predicament he’d been in. And what about Ettie? She would tell everybody at school. Probably when she was married and had kids of her own, she would think of Nash Brue and the way he died and laugh up a storm.
    It just wasn’t fair, the way he was going to be treated if the wolf jumped him now. Nash was getting a little mad. He was beginning to hope that wolf would come. Nash would show him a thing or two.
    Then it occurred to Nash how ridiculous the situation was, and he began to laugh at himself, his chuckles trickling into a flood of guffaws. He laughed till tears came to his eyes. He wasn’t as afraid of the wolf anymore. Somehow the laughter had eased the fear. He wiped himself with the wad of paper he had carried in his pocket and stood, hitching up his pants. Bring on the wolf. Nash was ready.
    He settled into an easy hunting rhythm, slipping through the coulee, moving quietly from cover to cover, pausing and watching for some moments before padding along. He had noticed the tracks some time ago, rambling across the hillside on the opposite side. He didn’t know for sure what had left that sign in the snow. The trail meandered like a deer searching here and there for browse. But it could just as well have been a wolf. Nash really didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to walk across the coulee to look. He just wanted to keep the tracks on the far side. The coulee was narrowing, and Nash was forced to walk higher and higher on the hillside to keep his footing on the precipitous walls. He was walking along just below the crest when his father called to him from only a few feet away.
    â€œGlad to see the wolf didn’t eat you, boy. Would have had a hard time explaining that to your mother. Get a bite to eat out of the saddle bag, then come over and help me load up a deer. She was moving ahead of you. We’ll eat well this trip.”
    Nash took a loaf of bread from the saddlebags, cut two slices, and slipped a slab of roast venison between them and sat down to eat. Meanwhile, Uriah opened a can of peaches and squatted down next to Nash. Each took turns stabbing the peach halves with his knife. When the fruit was gone, they split the juice, drinking from the can. Canned peaches were a treat, and Nash savored his. When they were done, Uriah tossed the can down into the coulee.
    â€œGive me a hand with the doe, Nash.”
    The deer was fat and in fine shape. She had not yet lost her reserve from summer, and a thick layer of white suet lay heavy along her spine.
    Uriah and Nash quartered the animal, taking only the hindquarters and the tender steaks that lay along the back. The heart and the liver were dropped into a sack and tied, together with the meat, on Nell behind Nash’s saddle. Had they been nearer home, they would have taken all the deer, loading her into a wagon and carrying her home to hang until she aged. Then they would have processed the meat. But they weren’t home. When they were done, both scrubbed the blood off their hands in the snow.
    â€œTime to go, boy. It’ll be near dark by the time we get to camp.”
    Uriah and Nash mounted and nudged their horses into a walk. On the way, Nash told his father