CHAPTER 53
A wolf trap clamps down on W.H.'s foot.
"AAAGGGHHH! Dadgum trap. I'm caught in my own contraption." He thrashes from the catch, but doesn't feel any pain because the heel of his boot absorbs the impact. He tries to set himself free with one hand and hold the rifle with the other. The balancing act results in him tumbling over.
SNAP.
Another trap clamps down on his arm. He immediately regrets being a zealot. Shadows approach. The rumbling growls grow louder and louder.
W.H. tries to aim his rifle, but can't align it to his eye with his arm trapped.
A wolf howls again, much closer this time. He can see flashes in the forest, and he knows it's circling. Circling and closing in with each pass.
"Wolves have distinct howls. One howl that is unmistakable is the rally call. The wolf's howl is answered by the pack, because the strength of the wolf is the pack and the strength of the pack is the wolf."
The boys repeat the catchy expression with inattentive mumbles.
"Soon they begin to surround W.H.," Charlie says, rising to his feet, "and they are everywhere."
The boys watch and wonder what happens next as Charlie stretches out his hands.
Winding and winding around, the growls get louder as they close in.
"For though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil."
W.H. lifts his rifle with his free limb and fires a shot into a small and starved wolf's chest.
"Because all wolves are evil!"
He rests the barrel in the snow while he slides the bolt back with one hand and manages to lock another round. Just as he raises the barrel, a wolf explodes from underneath the evergreen canopy. It successfully flanks him but mistakes the barrel for W.H.'s arm. It clamps down on the warm metal barrel and runs off with it. A second wolf runs up to partake in the "kill." It gnaws at the trigger housing, and its bottom teeth find the free space between the trigger and the guard. It bites hard and applies enough pressure to decompress the trigger.
"AND I AM DEATH!"
BOOM!
W.H. feels a rush of joy when the weapon explodes in a cloud of red mist and blows the top of the starved wolf's head off.
On the other side of the ridge, a horse's neigh catches the attention of the pack. The magnificent white Appalachian thrashes back and forth and makes such a commotion, it forces the wolves to decide between revenge and dinner. Caving to their carnal instincts, the majority of the pack divides and runs off toward the saddled pony. Two stay behind.
Baring fangs, snarling, and drooling, the wolves move in for the kill just as they had with Little John.
W.H. reaches for his bowie knife and quickly unsheathes it.
"One of you is goin' with me!" he shouts, readying the blade.
As one wolf goes for the wolf hunter's exposed side, he stabs the knife into its throat and feels it sink deep. The wolf bites at the blade and puts up a brutal defense until it loses its strength and goes limp.
The other wolf uses its cold claws to tear through the hunter's thick coat and connect with his bare flesh. W.H. screams, which only encourages the wolf.
Unable to distinguish between wool and flesh, the wolf bites down hard on the coat collar and viciously thrashes it with such force that W.H. can't help but feel like his jolted neck is broken. Leaning at the waist, he slips his arm out of the sleeve and pushes the coat down his trapped arm. The sleeve slides down to where the trap clamps on to W.H.'s wrist and catches there. W.H. gasps for air and cracks a slanted smile as he realizes he's fooled the wolf into thinking it's torn his flesh off him. The beast rips the sleeve and separates the garment from its master.
Suddenly a collie leaps on the wolf, snarling and tearing at its thickly furred throat. The clack of fangs chip both animals' teeth, and the snarls cause W.H. to try to protect his buddy Bingo.
"Bingo, no! Skin outta here, boy!" W.H. shouts at his only true friend, a black-and-white-patched dog with a single brown ring around his right eye.
W.H. uses his free hand to reach for his six-shooter. His traps work against him and restrict his movements. He twists himself around until his spine nearly snaps, but he manages to get a finger and thumb on the handle. All the while Bingo and the timber wolf viciously trash each other's hides with fierce bites and pouncing claws. Mustering the most pressure he can in this awkward position, the wolf hunter manages to unholster his pistol. He cocks the weapon and fires so fast that he isn't sure if he's hit his precious collie or the wolf.
Pressing down on the hammer, he watches the chamber rotate. He uses the front sight to aim at the wolf and fires a second shot, which severs the wolf's spinal cord. The wolf can't move anything but its snapping jaws, and those seek justice. Its pink tongue slips between its broken teeth, and before W.H. can fire a third shot, the wolf dies.
A brief, silent pause makes W.H. feel like part of his soul has been lost in the battle of savagery versus civilization.
But then a spotted tail stirs. Fear turns to elation when two shaggy black ears point up. Bingo shuffles out from under the wolf. His black nose is now frosted white with snow. He limps over to W.H., whimpers, and presents a wounded paw for his master to see.
Hurt here, his eyes seem to say.
"Did he tear you up, buddy?" W.H. asks the panting dog.
Author's Christmas surprise: Autograph book giveaway! Jump over to instagram: harvestmoonofficial, I'm about to post it.