Chapter 18: Murder in the Woods, Part 4

Ducks quacked, blue jays called out to each other warning that wolves were on the prowl. The sun slid into the forest leaving them in blue dusk. Brief stirrings told Nick the small creatures of the woods were poking their heads out into the evening. They froze as the scent of wolf emerged from the funk of swamp.

Jen finally found a clean pond with a bit of beach to get into the water. The moon had risen on the other side of the swamp and put white edges on the reeds and trees. As soon and Jen immersed herself the smell of the putrid mud receded and Nick picked out some of the other messages carried by the wind.

"Wait here," Nick said, "I'm going to take a wander and smell out what's what."

"I'm not getting out of this water until I smell like a wolf again."

"Stay in there long enough and you'll smell like a frog," Nick said, but she didn't reply. She was trying to shake under water.

Nick padded further through the marsh. A faint scent teased him; like death and it got stronger as he went. He might find Bob and everything would go back to the way it should be. It wasn't Bob. The smell came from the remains of a beaver swollen and ripe with being dead. It had been dead at least a few days, so it wasn't part of the mystery.

He went on a little further and picked up another scent under the death stench. He dropped his jaw and laughed to himself. This was the explanation for Bob's disappearance. Irma wasn't going to like it, but that was life as a cow. He should go on and see for himself, but at that moment he heard Jen give a brief call so he turned and bounded away. He'd be able to find them tomorrow.

***

"Damn, Jeb! That was a wolf. I almost had a shot at him too. You must have moved and scared him away."

"Wasn't me, Hank. I've been silent as a ghost. You must have bumped the boat with your rifle when you picked it up."

"Damn, I've never shot a wolf."

"You can't eat 'em."

"Don't care, I want to kill me a wolf."

"Well we'll come back and sit on that dead beaver. The wolf will come back to it."

"That thing? Ecchhh."

"That's why you can't eat 'em. All that stuff about them being great hunters. Sheep and dead animals is what they eat."

"There ain't any sheep around here."

"So we sit on that beaver or something, and we'll get you a wolf. For now, we'd better get back to camp and help Dan with the skinning."

"Alright, but tomorrow we're getting that wolf."

***

"Quiet, Jen." Nick cocked his head and listened hard.

"Can we go now?" Jen said. "I'm cold and I still smell like the swamp."

"Well, I guess that's why we don't hunt duck," Nick said. "I thought I heard something odd, but it's gone now."

The two wolves loped back to the den.

"You should have seen it," Nick told the pack as they lay around the den, "I thought she was going to just fly away like a bird."

"I almost had it," Jen said. "I had feathers in my mouth."

"Can't eat feathers," the Alpha said. He sat by the entrance to the den. His mate, Nick's mother lay by his side. Jen's mothers lay beside her mate at the other edge of the clearing.

"Time to hunt?" asked Nick.

"Time to hunt," the Alpha said, "but stay clear of the moose. We don't want any more tails being stood on."

The eight wolves vanished into the night. Nick made sure that Jen wasn't following him. He wanted some time away from the swamp smell. He headed upslope and scented the breeze. The moose would be in the valleys with open meadows and young poplars. That was good mouse hunting and even rabbit, but the thought of moose made his tail ache and the Alpha had said to stay away. There'd be mice where he headed and maybe more.

He threaded through the trees following a line that was more a suggestion than a path. As the trees thinned moonlight shone through yellowing leaves to leave confusing shadows on the ground. There might be a mouse standing in shadow beside a light area and Nick wouldn't see it. That was fine. He wasn't hunting by sight.

Nick took in the rich scents that were carried on the cool night breeze; the underlying odour of soil was a mix of death and life, trees had their own particular perfume, and the flowers too, over there--overripe berries and the black bear gorging on them. He adjusted his track to avoid the bear. Smaller predators hunted too; fox and bobcat, weasel and skunk. A tiny death squeak told him an owl snatched a mouse from the forest floor.

Nick sifted through the layers of the air and found a scent that make him drool. Rabbit. He stood and let the air flow past him and built up a picture of where his prey hid, no not hiding, eating the leaves from patches of wintergreen on the forest floor.

He crept forward until the rabbit moving in small hops was visible. Nick wrinkled his nose at the wintergreen's strong fragrance, but drooled in anticipation of the taste of rabbit. Though his heart raced, he forced himself to be still. One of the random hops brought it close enough to Nick for him to pounce. In an instant, he was on the rabbit and ready to tear out its throat.

"Wait!" the rabbit said. "I can tell you something."

"What kind of something?" Nick kept his paw firmly on the rabbit. The rapid beat of its heart and smell of its fear made him quiver.

"You're the wolf that's looking for the moose."