CHAPTER 65
Off in the distance, Makes Trouble wakes to find himself mysteriously transformed into a copper-colored wolf. A dozen dead hen lay prostrate around him. He tries to scoop them into his dry mouth and answer the rally call at the same time, but then he decides the call is top priority.
When the pack hears a distant howl, they decide to investigate it.
"Stop! Who are you?" Kiowa demands when he discovers a handsome russet wolf, its mouth stuffed with poultry.
Makes Trouble stops and cocks his head to the side. He sits on his haunches and signs, It is me, Makes Trouble. I have gathered all these hens for you. I am sorry that I did not return sooner. The woman fired a thunder stick, and I woke up down here…
Before he can finish his sentence, Kida trots up to the impressive wolf and checks his scent.
"It is you, Brother!" She leaps on him and then hugs him.
"Makes Trouble? Is that you in that glorious mane of gilded fur?" Anoki asks as she goes up to greet him.
Kiowa growls, which forces all the wolves to flatten their ears and back away.
Makes Trouble drops down on all fours and rolls over.
"I did what I thought was best. I have brought meat back for the tribe."
Kiowa leans down and smells Makes Trouble. The familiar scent of his pretend brother confirms what everyone else says.
"I don't understand," Kiowa says, looking Makes Trouble over. "We aren't supposed to have enough magic to change until the next harvest moon."
"You would prefer me ugly?" Makes Trouble says and signs.
"I knew you were off making trouble, but I didn't know you were making magic, too!" Kida nudges her brother.
The tribe greets their returned, transformed friend.
Days later, two men examine the slaughtered flock.
Up close, a shiny silver star-shaped badge reads, "SHERIFF, CIMARRON, NEW MEXICO," in black, etched letters. Below the lettering, a rectangular name reads OFFICER DAWSON.
Beside him, a Viking-looking man in his fifties is covered in buffalo furs. He's has a stocky build and a long, blond handlebar mustache and ponytail. He cocks his head to the side and processes the crime scene with affirmative nods and squinting glances. He wears a cap made of red fox fur, and when he nods, the tail waves emphatically behind his head.
"Ain't it hot under that fur cap?" Sheriff Dawson asks.
"I ain't got no hair, so it keeps me from getting chilly."
"Yeah, but it's an extra-hot summer. Folks are saying it's an Indian summer."
"Hot is hot. Cold is cold."
"Whad'ya make of it?" Sheriff Dawson asks the trapper, a man named Dan.
The thickset man scans the scene thoroughly; the stream starts in the distance and runs down between two steep clay-colored canyon walls. The bloody massacre follows the same trail, with the worst of it inside the canyon. His jaw moves back and forth, working a bulging wad of chaw in his cheek. He spits. Nods. And says in a strangely melodic Swedish accent, "Just volves, out der, bean volves."
"What's that? Wolves. Hmm. Well, I'll be honest with you. Wolves are just a might outside my area of expertise. Poachers is fish and game. Indians have their agent, but wolves? These ranchers could sure use some experienced help."
"He didn't even eat dem. He just killed dem fer da fun ov de killin'."
"Folks down here ain't had problems with wolves. They need someone who can restore peace and give them confidence."
Trapper Dan nods and takes his fox cap off. He rubs the top of his shiny, bald head. Tightens his ponytail and squats down to get a closer glimpse at some very peculiar footprints. He measures the distance of Makes Trouble's tracks and can't believe his eyes.
"Do you have da grizzly bears down here?"
"Anything's possible. You think it's more than one predator?"
"Ya!" Trapper Dan speaks in a singsong manner, with high and low tones that make the sheriff grin. "I've heard of das volves killin' fer fun, but I h'ant never seen it. If'n the bounty is high 'nough, I might could do something to help yew."
"County will pay a two-hundred-dollar bounty for the wolf hide you bring in."
The master hunter switches his investigation back to the wolf prints and notices varying widths.
"Is that per volf hide?"
"You think there's more than one?"
"Oh, I don't know," Trapper Dan says passively. "Where der's v'one volf, der's typically more. Two hundred a pelt and yew got yerself a deal." He spits black tar out of his mouth like a grasshopper and into his extended hand.
"That's a hard bargain. Ranchers ain't gonna pay more than damages."
"Dat's my price. Take it or leave it."
From a distance, the stream flows red with sheep blood. Flies swarm the hundred or so uneaten carcasses.
Charlie spits in the fire and flares out his arms to show how husky Trapper Dan was.
"Trapper Dan was rumored to be a dog lover. Folks said he had so many dogs it looked like he had dogs coming out his ears. His favorite hunting hound was a pit bull and, boy oh boy, did he have a bunch of 'em."
"'Cause of their lockjaw?" John blasts, locking his fingers together and snapping them.
"Sure!" Charlie shrugs, offset by the know-it-all.
"How did he keep all those dogs together?" John asks.
"He used a bugle and he had different bursts of notes to get the dogs to do his bidding. Three blasts got them to come back. Long blasts got them to go out east, west, north, or south depending on how hard he blew."
"Are the Indians the wolves?" Luther asks, clearly not listening to the story.
"Duh! You're so stupid!" the boys shout in unison, sticking out their tongues. Luther responds in kind and contorts his face into a hateful expression.
"Das cavalry has arrived! Come on, Captain, find der trail," Dan shouts at his alpha dog. He presses a hollowed-out bugle horn up to his lips and releases several long bursts, which get the dogs excited.
"What do you suppose he wants us to do?" Skip, the alpha's second-in-command asks Captain, the largest pit bull Dan has ever bred.
"I'm not certain. Let's just keep sniffing around until he looks happy," Captain says. He shakes his wide jaws and gray body all the way to the tip of his white stubby tail.
As the hellhounds sniff and expose their sharp, jagged teeth, their tongues protrude out of their wide mouths.
"Hey, Captain, I think I smell something over here," a black female pit bull named Coco says.
The dogs swarm the spot and, sure enough, Trapper Dan takes notice.
"Hey, guys, he's gonna blow the bugle. Let's all run into the canyon and act like we know where were going."
"You got it, Captain," Skip says. He turns to the pack of wandering pit bulls and shouts, "Hey, Master, is going to blow the bugle, and Captain says we all need to follow him into the canyon."
"Did you find something?" asks a white pit bull named Snowflake.
"Coco thinks she—"
Just then Trapper Dan blows the bugle.
"Get 'em, boys! Get yew dat volf!"
The others quickly follow Captain, leaving a thick dust cloud behind them. Their barks echo off the steep red clay sandstone walls.
Trapper Dan mounts his horse and covers his bald head with his red fox hat. As he's about to ride off, two mini-terriers named Limpy and Beau pop their heads out of his saddlebag. They make their contribution with weak howls as the short-haired muscular pit bulls tear off through the canyon.
Trapper Dan smiles, pleased with his well-trained pack. He kicks at his horse's side and revels in the racket their thundering barks create. The brown-and-white-spotted mustang moves out and follows the pit bulls into the canyon.
"Don't vorry, Betty," Dan says to his horse. "I v'eren't telling the complete truth to Sheriff Dawson. One volf bounty is going to pay for yer new saddle." He pats the silver-studded black leather saddle. "Our profits vill be enough to replace this here Colt ring-lever carbine. Oh, von't dat be nice. I have had dis rifle since thirty-nine. Maybe cover all das gambling debts too. Prob'ly ve'll be back at das card table before da nightfall. Ve are going to ve very rich and famous. De whole town vill love us! They will stop calling me Sweed and start calling me Trapper Dan, as da good Lord intended." He grins, increasing the rosy blush in his cheeks.
Farther up the canyon, Kiowa and the wolves enjoy a midday nap. The evidence of their crime is dried all over their fur. The same scent they followed to find the herd of sheep is leading the pit bulls to them now.