The fall morning couldn’t have been any more beautiful as Ike McSwain rode easily along a little used trail. Four days of hard riding to deliver yet another of Teaspoon Hunter’s “special” mails had one significant advantage—there was seldom any urgency to get back to Sweetwater. As the rider emerged from what amounted to a small forest of spruce and hemlock, he reined his horse in sharply. No more than fifty paces away, in a small clearing, a huge black timber wolf was caught in a trap. Ike was familiar enough with the area to remember that there had been a trapper named Harold had been claiming this ridge as his own. He had heard at the fort that Harold had died the previous week, so the wolf was lucky he had happened along. Confused and obviously in pain, the animal backed away from Ike and his horse, straining at the trap’s chain. It was then that Ike noticed that the wolf was a female, and from the looks of her, had recently had pups. Somewhere there was a den of hungry little critters waiting for their mother. From her appearance, Ike guessed that she had only been trapped for a few days. That meant her pups were probably still alive, surely no more than a short distance away. But he suspected, if he tried to release the wolf, she would turn on him and probably tear him to pieces. So he decided to search for her pups instead and began looking for incoming tracks that might lead him to the den. Too bad Buck isn’t here with me, he thought trying to remember all that his Kiowa friend had taught him about tracking. Fortunately, there had been rain in recent days—enough to help him find what he was looking for—paw marks on a trail that skirted the small forest. The tracks led a half-mile through the forest then up a rock-strewn slope. It was there that Ike finally spotted the den at the base of an enormous spruce. Wolf pups were shy, Ike knew, and cautious. He didn’t think he had much hope of luring them out into the open, but he also knew he had to try. Looking around, he found felled tree, its trunk hollowed out by insects. Gently the mute rider tapped on the trunk of the tree with the butt of his pistol. A few minutes later, after he had tapped twice more, four tiny pups appeared. They couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old, Ike decided. Tentatively, he extended his hand and just as cautiously, they began to suckle at his fingers. Their hunger had helped overcome their natural fear, he reckoned. One by one, he placed them in a bag he had made of his spare shirt, then headed back down the slope. When the mother wolf spotted him, she stood erect. Possibly picking up the scent of her young, she let out a high-pitched, plaintive whine. Ike released the pups and they raced to her. Within seconds they were getting their long awaited fill of her nourishing milk. What next? Ike wondered. The mother wolf was clearly suffering. Yet each time he moved in her direction, a menacing growl rumbled in her throat. With her young to protect, Ike knew he would never be able to get close enough to release her from her trap. She needs food, Ike decided. I need to find her something to eat. He hiked along the nearby creek, hoping to find something—anything—that he could feed the hungry animal. As if in answer to his prayers, he came across a pair of rabbits a few minutes later. He made a quick decision and was soon on his way back to the little family with fresh meat. Ike couldn’t remember the last time he had so thoroughly regretted not being able to speak. He knew if Buck were there, the other man would be gently talking to the wolf, trying to win her trust with the tone of his voice as much as the food he was providing. Shrugging at what he could not change, the rider began cutting off pieces of meat and throwing them to the wolf from a safe distance. She sniffed them, then gobbled them up. After the wolf had eaten her fill, Ike cut some hemlock boughs and fashioned a rough shelter for himself. It had been a long day and he was soon fast asleep. Dawn came to find Ike awakened by four fluffy bundles of fur sniffing at his face and hands. He glanced towards their agitated mother. If only I can win her over, he thought. It was her only hope. Over the next few days, Ike divided his time between hunting for food and trying to win the wolf’s trust. Each day he threw her more meat and played with her pups. Little by little, he kept edging closer—though he was careful to remain just beyond the length of her chain. The big animal never took her eyes off of him. At dusk on the third day, as he delivered her evening meal, the pups came bounding towards him. At least he had their trust, he realized. But he was beginning to lose hope of ever winning over their mother. He started as he realized the great wolf was actually wagging her tail at him slightly. Carefully, he moved with the length of her chain. She remained motionless. Ike’s heart was in his mouth as he sat on the ground well within range. One snap of her huge jaws and she could easily break his arm—or his neck. He wrapped his blanket around him and slowly settled onto the cold ground. It was a long time before he fell asleep that night. Once again Ike awoke at dawn, stirred by the sound of the pups nursing. Rising to his feet, he moved closer then gently leaned over to pet the young ones. The mother wolf stiffened. Slowly, Ike placed his hand on the wolf’s injured leg. She flinched but made no threatening move. This can’t be happening, Ike thought. But it was. He could see the trap’s steel jaws had caught only two toes. They were cut and swollen but at least she wouldn’t lose the paw—if Ike could get her free. Ike applied pressure until the trap sprang open and the wolf pulled free. Whimpering, she loped about, favoring the injured paw. Based on what he had heard from Buck about wild animals, the rider figured the wolf would now gather her pups and vanish into the woods. He barely contained his surprise as she cautiously crept up to him. The pups were nipping playfully at their mother as she stopped at Ike’s elbow. Slowly she sniffed his hands and arms. Then, to his amazement, she began licking his fingers. This went against everything he had ever heard but, strangely, it didn’t seem all that unnatural. After a while, with her pups scurrying around her, the mother wolf was ready to leave and began to limp off into the trees. She had just reached the edge of the clearing when she turned back toward Ike. It’s almost like she wants me to come with her, Ike thought, even more surprised than before. Curious, he packed his gear, checked his horse’s tether and set off on foot. Following the creek for a few miles the little group climbed steadily until that reached a meadow. There, lurking in the forest was the wolf pack. Ike counted nine adults and, judging from their playful antics, four nearly full-grown pups. After a few minutes of greeting, the pack broke into howling. It was an eerie sound, ranging from low wails to high-pitched yodeling. At dark, Ike set up camp. By the light of his fire and the glistening moon, he could just make out the furtive shapes of the wolves, dodging in and out of the shadows. Strangely, the rider felt no fear. They were just curious, he knew—so was he. At first light, Ike decided it was time to leave the wolf to her pack. She watched as he packed his gear and started walking across the meadow. Reaching the far side he looked back to see the wolf and her pups sitting where he had left them, watching him. He wasn’t sure why he did it, but he gave into the urge to wave at the quintet. At the same time, the mother wolf sent a long, mournful howl into the crisp morning air. Ike left the valley then, knowing he would not likely be returning. The memory the wolf left him though—vivid, haunting and more than a little eerie—would always be with him though. It would remain as a reminder that there are things in nature that exist outside the laws and understanding of man. During that brief instant in time, the injured animal and the mute Pony Express rider had somehow penetrated each other’s world—bridging barriers that were never meant to be bridged. There was no explaining things like that, Ike knew—he doubted even his best friends would truly understand what he had felt. He could only accept what had happened and—because the experience was tinged with an air of mystery and strangeness—treasure the memory all the more. Email Cathy HOME