Part 2
She landed awkwardly on loose shale and slid several feet before her claws caught. The red dog appeared between the boulders above her. It checked itself at the drop. She had gained a little ground, though there was no path straight down and the men were closing behind it.
To her right, a line of dark spruce followed the rim. She ran beneath them. The slope there held firmer soil, enough for her to keep her feet. She could smell the river more strongly with every stride. The cub bounced against her chest; once his paw brushed the ground, and she lifted her head to carry him clear. The effort slowed her. The red husky found the trail again.
A vehicle growled along a logging cut somewhere below. The second answered from farther upstream. Engines came and went behind the trees as the men tried to reach the places where she might descend. She turned away from the cut each time its smell reached her, forcing herself through thorns and low branches instead. Her coat snagged; the cub gave a weak squeal when a twig struck his side.
She burst onto a patch of open ground and nearly collided with the husky. It had worked ahead along a deer trail. For a moment they stood facing each other: dog crouched, wolf holding the pup, both of them panting. The husky lunged. She swung her body between it and the cub, snapped once, and drove forward while it recovered. The dog skidded away. She slipped through the thorn hedge at the clearing’s edge, leaving gray fur on its stems.
Beyond the hedge, the trail divided. One branch ran toward the service road and smelled of exhaust; the other dropped into a narrow ravine where water had cut a channel through the clay. She chose the ravine. The dogs lost sight of her as they circled the thorns, and for a few strides the only sound was the cub breathing. Then the red one took up the trail from the far end. Its bark pulled the others after it. She climbed out before they reached the channel, passing so close to a hunting vehicle that she heard its tires turn on gravel above her.
The other dogs joined the red one. Their voices were now so close she could hear the short breaths between barks. A rifle cracked beyond them, and something struck a tree well off to her left. One of the hunters cursed the shot. Greg called for them to hold their fire until they had a clear view; he wanted the wolf himself.
The ground turned spongy under her paws. Then it rose, abruptly, onto bare stone. Her front feet slipped. She caught herself and kept moving, but the places where she could put a paw were fewer and farther apart. The river sounded louder than any road or dog. She rounded an outcrop and came out from the trees.
There was no bank beneath this part of the ridge.
The river ran below a sheer wall of rock, roughly thirty feet down, its surface broken white around boulders. On her side the rim narrowed to a shelf with scrub pines rooted in cracks. She stepped back. A dog came out of the brush behind her, then another. The husky took the center. Its hackles rose as it watched the cub in her mouth.
Greg emerged with his rifle. Paul and Seth followed, out of breath, calling the dogs close. They fanned across the approach so she could not get back between them. Greg saw her turn her head toward the water and laughed once, without pleasure. He said Orlo’s name, as he always did when he spoke of the wolf. The other men heard the old anger in his voice; the wolf saw a body behind the gun and dogs blocking the trees.
She edged toward a scrub pine. Its roots gave under her paw.
The cub made a small sound.
Greg raised the rifle, and the husky drew itself up to spring. The forest beyond them had become a wall of barking and men. The river below moved fast enough to carry a fallen branch out of sight in seconds.
She shifted the cub higher in her jaws. Greg took a step forward. Stone broke away under her hind feet, rattling down toward the water. She gathered herself on the last sound piece of ledge and jumped before the dog could reach her.
For a moment she was still holding the pup and there was only wind. Then the river struck her side. Cold shut her ears and eyes; the current rolled her under before she could find a footing.
Her jaws opened as her head hit water, and the cub was torn away.
She kicked toward the light. Her muzzle broke the surface just long enough for one breath, then a wave pushed her sideways against rock. When she rose again she searched the churning water for the small gray shape. She found it downstream, tumbling near a line of foam. Its paws broke the surface and disappeared.
She swam toward it at an angle, fighting to cross the current instead of following it. Each stroke gained less than she needed. Above her, on the cliff, a rifle fired. Water sprang up behind her head. Another shot followed, farther out. She kept her eyes on the cub.
He passed a boulder. The current curled around its far side and held him for a second in slack water. She reached him there. Her teeth caught the loose skin at his neck, hard enough to make him cry out. He was alive. She pulled him clear of the boulder just as the river drew both of them away again.
The cub kicked against her muzzle, then went still enough for her to hold him. Up on the ledge Greg moved along the rock, trying to keep sight of them through the spray. Paul shouted that shooting into the river could strike the cub without stopping the current; Greg fired once more before the bend hid them. Seth ran for the ford. The mother could not see any of this. Her world had narrowed to the patch of water ahead and the resistance of a small living body in her teeth.
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