Chapter 4: Wolf Warriors

The Family

Cole spent a good part of the day at the Forest Service office and on the phone to his congressman. Every member of the family made calls.

“Cole,” Arlen said as the rancher sat across the desk from him, “our hands are tied. The EPA is gutted and there’s been no move to replace it. The Army Corps of Engineers rubberstamps whatever they’re given. They’ve been issued permits to explore for gas and oil in the National Forest. It’s not just here. They came marching in on the first with permits for the entire Medicine Bow, the Shoshone, the Teton, the Gallatin, Lewis and Clark ... They moved crews into every accessible area of the Northern Rockies. Not just crews, but heavy equipment. Ever since the samples came out of the site in Yellowstone, the permits have been flying like gnats.”

“What are we going to do, Arlen? This is public land. They’re fencing off areas—good grazing areas. Places where we’ve had the rights for generations,” Cole said.

“All I can do is stand between the parties and try not to get my rangers killed in the crossfire,” Arlen said. “We’ve got a blog up and have a campaign on Twitter and Facebook, but those became so discredited that nobody believes anything they read there unless it happens to agree with what they think. We can’t get press because the press is owned by the same multinationals that own the energy companies and they’re all owned by Wall Street.”

“Well, we’re going to keep fighting this, Arlen. We’ll start with a call campaign to our representative and senators. There are too many of us who depend on the land to let them take it away from us.”

“Good luck with that, Cole. I mean it. We’ve got one voice in the House. Montana has one. Colorado has seven. If you can get Idaho and Utah onboard, that’s six more. Fifteen out of 435. But the truth is, they’re owned by the same multinationals.”

Nonetheless, the family tried. They called their representatives and senators. They called their neighbors. Aubrey printed up some fliers and they gave them to the folks who boarded at the stables and who brought their mares in for stud service. Their campaign barely rated a footnote to the larger protest in Yellowstone National Park where the oil company had announced that the pseudo-fracking operation that would begin soon. That protest had closed the Park entirely and no traffic was allowed through the gates. Still, an estimated thousand or more Native American protesters had set up a village in the basin of the Park below the drilling site.

“I’m already exhausted,” Mary Beth said as the family gathered after dinner and the news. “I was going to read tonight, but I don’t think I can.”

“I’ll do it,” Cole said. “I need to take my mind away from the local troubles. My children are more important. Maybe by reading, I can reach out to them.” Cole took the box and pulled out the sheaf of papers that would make the next part of the story.

Phile: Wolves

I always get to tell about the wolves because Cait can’t handle it. I don’t mean she breaks down or is frightened, but something happened to us in before-time when we ate the raw warm hearts of the hunting pair we killed. The very idea that there were other wolves hunting in our marked territory sparked a primitive need to defend it. This is our land. I want to hunt the alpha male and gut him with my claws. Caitlin’s response is even more visceral.

In before-time, Cait and I still lived apart from the village, but we were welcome there. The soldiers had killed most of the old people, women, and children when they attacked, but the warriors had been out hunting. There were enough survivors that they had to gather and protect them rather than chasing after the soldiers for revenge. The old wise woman had still been in her tipi when the soldiers came, and so she was spared. A few of the women had been gathering in the forest and ran when they heard the guns. But of a band of nearly 200, there were scarcely 75 left.

The excitement started with a fox showing up at the edge of our camp.

Bent Bow, now our chief hunter, came from his tent with an arrow already on the string. I think he would have shot right through me to kill the fox if our he’évánó’ėstse—our wise woman—had not placed her hand on his arm. He was angry because he liked to kill animals, even when he did not need food. I suspected he was part white.

“This is a messenger, Bent Bow,” the old woman said to him. “Do not let your lust to kill overwhelm you. I fear you will have much to satisfy it soon.”

“The Wolf Twins are witches. We should not have them in our camp,” he answered. “They should be driven away.”

The old woman nodded toward the edge of our circle at the large frame where an elk hide was stretched. It had been an old bull who offered himself. Caitlin and I lowered our bows to salute his gift. Bent Bow took the shot and claimed the kill. It did not make a difference to us because it fed our village. But it added to his power in the village.

“Yet they need you to make their kills,” the old woman said. “You protected them from the charging bull when they could not defend themselves, according to the way you recited the hunt. And never did they contradict you. Look in your heart, Bent Bow. Your quiver is nearly empty.”

I rose from my conference with the fox and he trotted off into the woods. I turned to the wise woman and gave the message to her.

“Ma’ėhóóhe has seen many men on horses riding toward the sunset along the winding river. They make much noise and it disturbs his kits. He appeals to the people to make the horsemen leave.”

“Do they come to hunt us?” Bent Bow asked.

“Fox does not understand the speech of the soldiers,” I said. “He only appeals to us as the people of the land to protect it.”

“We should kill the whites,” the warrior declared.

“Wolf Twins, can you understand the whites as you understand the animals?” Wise Woman asked. I trod carefully on this path. To the People, there was no way that I could know the language.

“It may be possible,” I answered. “I do not know if I can get one to hold still long enough to talk.” This got some laughter from our quickly gathered council. I wasn’t officially a member of the council. Cait and I were much too young to be considered part of the elders. But our status as a kind of ma’heónėhetane or shaman allowed us to speak. There was a lot of discussion among the older men and women that went long into the night. Caitlin and I were not included. We retired to our tent and took our own council.

“My wolf heart is beating hard, naéhame,” Caitlin said. It made me proud when she referred to me as her mate. We had not mated in the manner of man and woman, but we were recognized as a pair and no one challenged our right to be together.

“I think we need to investigate. If we can get close, we can hear what they say. It is good that our tribe does not know we understand English. They will think we read the hearts of whiteman,” I said.

“More than ever, I see the wisdom of hiding this from both the tribe and the whites. The wolves must prowl.”

In the morning, we emerged from our tent wearing just our loincloths and wolf skins. The wise woman met us at the fire circle. Meat was already roasting and my mouth watered. She tore two slabs of meat from the roasting carcass and threw them to us like we would throw scraps to a dog. When we wore the skins, we were considered part of the animal world. No one would approach us. We snatched the meat out of the air before it touched the ground. I hate eating food that’s been in the dirt.

“You will hunt,” she said. “Before we send braves to meet the guns of soldiers, we will know that they are a threat. If they do not hunt us, we will let them go their way and we will move on. Go.”

We chewed our meat, not completely cooked, as we walked out of the village. Our horses fell in beside us as we left. We honored their presence by not mounting them where the village could see us. When we were mounted, they flew like the wind toward the soldiers.

We rubbed our horses down and they rolled in the dirt. They had worked up quite a lather and dust quickly turned to mud. If a scout happened upon them, they would look like nȧhahévo’hāme, wild horses, and not like mo’éhno’ha, or what the whites called Indian ponies. There was a herd of mustangs sheltered in a nearby canyon and they ran off to join them. They would bring us even more news when we returned.

Cait and I made our way toward the soldier camp, another two miles away. We became the wolves we were dressed as and took most of the day to reach the encampment. Lying low in the brush near the river, we listened. When soldiers came near, we disappeared into the trees, but always stayed near enough to hear.

“This is the piss-poorest, god-awfulest place in the world,” a soldier said to his companion.

“You didn’t see Georgia when we marched to the sea,” said an older grizzled man. “Everything behind us was black ash. Everything ahead of us was flying lead. Sherman didn’t burn Georgia to deprive the Rebs. He did it to keep us from turning around.”

“Well, ya saw real action,” the younger said. “Where are these Indians we’re supposed to be hunting?”

“Probably ten steps away listening to us,” the older said. We crept back farther. Had he heard us? “That’s the thing about Indians. They don’t come out and fight like men. They’ll fall out of trees on your back. They’ll cut your throat in your bedroll. An arrow is silent death. You never hear it.”

“Hell, you’re a joy to listen to.”

“Just keep your knife at your hand. You won’t have a chance to draw your gun.”

So, they were hunting Indians. That wasn’t good. It didn’t mean they were after our band specifically. But when we found an officer talking, that was a different thing.

“Scout says there’s a band about two days’ ride north of here,” the captain said. “Our orders are to clear the area for settlement. I want you to take a detachment of twenty men and make sure they are no longer a threat.”

“We’ll leave at first light, sir,” his lieutenant responded.

“We’ve been riding hard for a week. Give the men another day of rest before you leave. The savages won’t be going anywhere.”

“The men will be happy for an opportunity to kill some redskins. They’ve been getting itchy,” the lieutenant answered.

“Make sure there is no one left to complain.”

It was difficult to keep the wolf in me from attacking and killing both men. Cait and I slipped back about a mile and paced back and forth.

“We should warn the village,” I said.

“We should kill them all in their sleep like that old soldier suggested,” Caitlin responded.

“Cait, listen.” She turned her head toward the sound we could both hear. “We’ve got a problem at the ranch. Wolves.”

“Ma! Pa! We hear wolves down in the bottomland. It’s got the horses spooked!” Caitlin yelled as we burst through the kitchen door of the ranch. “They were galloping toward the river.” That’s where things started getting confusing. I don’t mean the craziness at the ranch with Pa and Mom Ash headed one direction and Ramie and Kyle headed another. Caitlin and I were sent to the pasture to protect the stock and took our rifles.

But things were going crazy in both timelines at the same time. In before-time, we had to stop the soldiers. In now-time, we had to stop the wolves. It was caring for the horses in now-time that gave us the idea of what to do with the soldiers. We shared all the thoughts at the same time. Bells and Bows were right there with us and met us on the run.

We didn’t exactly stay in the upper pasture where we’d been told. The horses told us there was no threat from that direction. But there were two gates that held the rest of the horses in the river pasture. We opened the paddock gate and the two horses followed us, even though their feet were still tender. The boots we’d put on them helped, but they weren’t used to anything on their feet and sometimes stumbled a little.

As soon as we got the lower gate open, they took off for the river. When the horses saw Kyle on his three-wheeler headed their direction, they naturally turned and headed up toward the ranch, putting him between them and the wolves. Bells and Bows met them and there was a stampede to the open gate. Cait and I got to the paddock to open the gate just as the herd came charging toward us. They were all spooked, but as soon as we got the gate closed behind them, we started shoveling hay out for them and they started to calm down.

At the same time, we were moving among the soldier horses and cutting their halters while we talked to them in their heads. We showed them a rich pasture where no one would try to make them carry heavy saddles and people. As each one left the rope corral where they were tethered, our horses guided them through the woods to meet up with the others. We had to work fast because the night patrol would be by to check on them shortly.

When they showed up, they started yelling and soldiers scurried out of their bedrolls with their weapons drawn looking for threats while they bounced around trying to get their boots on. A couple shots were fired and the last three horses broke loose. Unfortunately, they headed right for the other horses. The scout who had brought the word of our village to the troops camped outside the circle of soldiers and had his horse saddled before the shots were fired. He headed the direction the last three horses were going with intent to round them up and bring them back.

We couldn’t let that happen.

Untethered horses can move fast. Much faster than a horse and rider in the darkness. And a slow horse and rider is no match for a wolf. The scout heard the snarl and pulled his gun, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the bite of Wolf Riding Woman’s knife driving into his throat. The two gunshots echoed in our ears in both timelines. Wolf Riding Woman tore at the throat of the dead scout with her teeth as I cut the tack from his horse. I finally had to kick Caitlin off him to get her moving. She started to turn on me before she came back to her senses. Blood ran from her face and down her bare chest.

It wasn’t hers.

Caitlin: Sister

Everything was quiet after the gunshots in now-time. I stood there feeling ... tasting the blood in my mouth from before-time. I had my rifle on my shoulder looking for an enemy.

Phile laid a hand on my shoulder and I lowered the gun. The horses had bunched in a corner of the corral, but they were looking calmer.

“Let’s get some hay and oats. Those rescues never get oats. They’ll settle right down.” We got the feed and as we scooped it into the trough Phile said, “We’re missing one. Where’s Lucky?”

We sent our minds questing out trying to locate the missing horse and found him hobbling up toward the pasture gate, trying to make his way to the other horses. He was bleeding. We brought him up to the barn and tied him as I hand-fed him oats and Phile tended the wounds. He called the vet and told him what we saw. The vet said he’d be out with antibiotics and sutures, and told us to keep Lucky separate.

While Phile was on the phone, I saw the ATVs racing toward the house together. Mom Mar was out the door with a phone to her ear and her hands full of bandages and medicine. Aubrey was right behind her carrying a kettle with the handle wrapped in a dishtowel. And then I saw Kyle carry Ramie into the bunkhouse.

My sister lay limp in his arms.

I am so sorry, Ramie, that I have never been able to tell you how much I love you. I know I was a brat, but I hope you know why now. You were kind to us kids, even when we were at our worst. You defended us on the bus to school. You brought Bells and Bows to us at the ranch. You gave us good work that we were happy doing. And you never once passed judgment on Phile and me for being in love, even when you struggled with your own relationships. But in all that time, I never told you what I felt when I saw Kyle carry you into the house. I love you, my sister.

I was frozen in place. In both before-time and now-time, I vowed to destroy every threat to our family, our tribe, our land.