CHAPTER 71
He hears a noise to his right. When he looks, Makes Trouble opens his mouth and drops Beau's body. It lands limply at Dan's feet.
"Vhat?" Dan stumbles back and frantically searches for his weapon. As he turns to run, he bumps into Paw, who carries the pistol in his mouth, like he's just retrieved a stick.
Kiowa's thunderous growls reverberate off Dan's chest. The hunter looks left to right and spots one wolf after another creeping out from behind the nearby boulders. The pack quickly seizes Dan's limbs.
"I want to be the one to kill him," Makes Trouble snarls, working his jaws like a butcher sharpens knives.
Kiowa leaps between Dan and his pretend brother. He opens his mouth and presses his full weight on Dan's wide stomach. He presses his sharp claws against Dan's burly chest and feels himself start to lose control when the man squirms under his paws. He growls so close to Trapper Dan's face that he can feel hot breath escaping his shuddering lips. He puts his paw on Dan's hairy chest, showing that his enemy has been conquered.
Dan shields his face with his hands and arms. "NO! DON'T EAT ME!"
Just as Trapper Dan thinks his goose is cooked, the cloud cover dissipates and the harvest moon's beams blast down on the wolves. Kiowa slowly shape-shifts into his natural form, starting from his feet and ending with his head.
"AAAAHHHH! AHHH! AHHH!" Trapper Dan's feels fear in its most potent form explode off his lips in terrifying wails.
The other wolves shape-shift as well, still holding Trapper Dan by his clothes with their human teeth. They continue to growl.
Kiowa slaps Trapper Dan across the face.
"We don't eat men!" he says in a language Dan can't understand.
"Verevolves…Injun verevolves!"
Kiowa steps off Dan's chest, which causes the others to release him.
Dan scrambles to his feet and clumsily sprints back toward the riverbed. He runs screaming like a madman, tripping over everything as he goes.
"Arrroooowwww." Kiowa cups his hand to his mouth and howls.
The tribe laughs and howls with him.
W.H. sits on the steps of an icy street, shaking his tin cup. "Any spare change would be greatly appreciated."
A man walking past shields his eyes from falling snow. He looks down at the pitiful wolf hunter and says, "You're a grown man. Get a dang job!"
"Snowfall was too heavy to hunt. I'd freeze to death out there, I would, mister. Please…" W.H. sighs and lets his cup droop to the point it dangles off his trigger finger.
An older, well-dressed gentlemen walks up to W.H. and drops a penny in the cup. "Penny for your thoughts?"
"Dr. Bennett?"
"How is your expedition?"
W.H. lowers his head in shame.
"Will you come back to school, or do you still insist on trapping for a living?"
"I have seriously reconsidered my position!"
"I'd hoped you would say that, my good nephew. Nothing like a hungry stomach and a cold winter's night to bring you to your senses. Come, let us get you something warm to eat as you listen to an offer I think you will find difficult to refuse."
The pair venture into a nearby rustic, frontier-style pub. Long round logs stacked on one another make a humble building. A tin roof keeps the snow out. A river-rock fireplace stuffed with blazing logs generates a wonderful comforting heat.
A waiter with a bushy black mustache greets them. The headmaster holds up two fingers and is quickly escorted to a table. Before the waiter can hand them their menus, the headmaster orders.
"Two Dutch stews and keep the biscuits coming. I believe my nephew is close to starving."
The meaty aroma makes W.H.'s stomach grumble. He tries to maintain a calm, cool demeanor, but his eyes dart back and forth and give away his famished state.
The dean unrolls a copy of the Squatter South. The first paper in Atchison, Kansas.
Dr. Bennett shuffles in his seat and bops his legs. When the waiter brings two tankards of ale, he lifts his and slams it against W.H.'s. Foam spills over both and makes a frothy mess on the pine plank table.
His eyes explode with excitement. "I am adamant that you must learn the value of education."
Not wanting to hear the lecture but eager for the food, W.H. lets his eyes wander toward the kitchen. It's really too bad that arms don't have mouths and legs. They could leap out of my sockets, run to the kitchen, and gorge themselves while my ears and hollows could oblige him. W.H. smirks, which Dr. Bennett misinterprets as agreement.
"Ah…I knew you would be reasonable." He puts his hand on a manila envelope, postmarked NYC. "I have done some research and found several periodicals I believe may be of interest to you. Here is a letter of intent I have secured from some commissioned gentlemen of the Hudson's Bay Company. They are all masons in one way or another, you know." He leans forward and whispers, "They always want new members to keep their secrets, ugh…hum…Well, you know how they carry on, and naturally they suspected I would be a good candidate, so…where was I?"
"Research."
"Ah, yes! Research. As I was saying, you piqued my interest with your passionate pitch for the hunting endeavor. So, being the good uncle that I am, I thought I would show you the impact education can have. First, I leveraged my network on your behalf. I wrote several friends at universities and they responded in kind, might I add, with two very intriguing pieces." He slides the envelope across the table, then catches his mug and guzzles his ale. When he's downed the entire vat, he slams his tin mug down on the table and uses his brown-and-black-checkered wool coat sleeve to wipe his foamy mustache.
"I am of the firm opinion, young man, that you have redeemable qualities. Sure, you may not be the most handsome devil on the block"—he winks—"and though the ladies hardly pay you any mind, unless you tell your wolf stories and liquor them up, but where does that end? More trouble. Believe me. I have seen it a thousand times. But I digress. Here's what I believe. Your aspirations can be united with members of the lodge, commissioned gentlemen, who are the sole purpose this town was created."
W.H. combs his hands through his scruff. "You're losing me."
"Did you not know that Winnipeg was created as a place where Hudson's Bay officers could retire. Take their fortunes. Start new endeavors?"
W.H. shakes his head no and taps his foot, counting the minutes until the meal reaches his lips.
"Education nephew. Always measure things in principal, time, energy. Have you learned nothing. Oh never mind. Well, it would seem that you may be in just such a position to satisfy my colleagues interest. See they always have their eye on increasing their fortune. In short, open the envelope."
W.H. opens the envelope. He unfolds a neatly handwritten letter on yellow paper in quill ink. Two newspaper articles separate from the letter and slide onto the table. He scans the letter and reads the title, LETTER OF INTENT.
"Terms?" W.H. asks bluntly.
"Your ambition is so sharp it cuts straight to the bone, eh?" The headmaster waves his curt nephew off. "Well, then, we shall skip the pleasantries and I will tell you what this first article says from the Omaha Times. It basically says that the United States will be giving land grants to the Union Pacific Railroad. Have you any idea what this means?"
W.H. shakes his head and searches for his food.
"What is it about youth that you are blinded to opportunity?"
Author's essential comment: It's Christmas eve. I'm in Siderno. All the restaurants are close. My tummy is growling. I ate a conli. Now my tummy is dancing with the holly bears. Well... at least to the song, "Holy & The Ivy." Merry Christmas?