Wilder Boys

by Brandon Wallace

  “Is that Jackson Lake?” Taylor asked, pulling his water bottle from his pack. He took a big swig and then handed it to his brother. Jake also gulped noisily from the bottle, and then he took out the topographic map he’d gotten at the ranger station.

  Taylor crowded in to look over his shoulder while Jake traced their route.

  “Yep. That’s Jackson Lake, all right,” said Jake.

  “Man, it’s huge!”

  “According to this map, it’s about five miles across and ten miles long.” “Do you think this is where the waterfall is?” Taylor asked. “The one Dad told us to find?”

  “Maybe,” said Jake. “But I don’t know how we’re going to find it. I don’t know what Dad was thinking. ‘Look across the moose’s neck’? I mean, c’mon.”

  “Well, there’s gotta be moose down there,” Taylor said.

  “Sure, but I don’t think Dad was talking about a real moose, do you?”

  Taylor shrugged. “Only way to know what he meant is to start searching.”

  Jake sighed. He knew Taylor was right, but looking at the size of the area they had to cover made him feel more doubtful than ever that they could find their father.

  “Let’s go down to the lake and set up a new camp,” said Taylor. “I want to catch some more fish. I could have eaten ten of those!”

  “It’s too risky,” said Jake. “Even if they don’t send a helicopter, the rangers will be looking for us by now. We’d better find someplace to hide tonight.”

  Taylor nodded reluctantly. The boys and Cody began descending the other side of the ridge. They walked down to the snowfield and, just for fun, crunched their way across it. Then they followed the snowmelt stream down through a small shallow valley toward Jackson Lake. Instead of continuing down to the lake, however, they turned north and walked toward another rocky ridge. On their left, they saw an even larger snow and ice field.

  “Is that a glacier?” Taylor wondered.

  Jake again consulted the map. “Yeah, I think it is.”

  “Wish I had a camera,” said Taylor. “Mom would never believe that her boys were standing beneath a real live glacier.”

  At the mention of their mother, both boys fell silent.

  Is she even alive? Jake thought, but he kept his question to himself.

  They continued walking, climbing the next steep rocky ridge. Again, it was a tough slog, and again, the boys stopped at the top, gasping for air. Below them, though, they saw a hidden depression—a cirque carved by long-gone glaciers, according to their father’s journal.

  “You think we should hide down there tonight?”

  Jake glanced up at the sky, and for the first time noticed heavy clouds rolling in.

  “Yeah,” Jake said. “It’ll be dark in a couple of hours.”

  Making their way into the cirque proved easier said than done. The boys had to carefully pick their way down the steep slope, and both brothers slid on the loose rock several times. Only Cody remained sure-footed, and he kept turning around as if to say, What’s keeping you slackers?

  They made it into the cirque just as real darkness began closing in and, almost immediately, the temperature began falling. The trio explored the area for some sort of shelter, but they didn’t find much. Eventually they found a rock overhang—not even a cave—that just might offer some protection. Unfortunately, the gathering clouds immediately put that to the test.

  Jake felt a fat drop of water hit him on the bridge of the nose. Several more followed. Then frozen pellets began raining down on them.

  “Hail!” Jake said. “Quick, into the cave.”

  The boys ducked under the overhang and put on every piece of clothing they owned. As they were pulling on their raincoats, several pieces of hail tumbled down their necks and under their T-shirts.

  “Brrr!” Taylor said, but both he and Jake started laughing. “One minute it’s hot, the next, there’s hailstones! Can you believe it?”

  Even though he’d never experienced it before, Jake had read how unpredictable mountain weather could be. He, Taylor, and Cody burrowed even deeper into their shelter.

  Suddenly the brothers saw a flash, like a giant camera going off. Two seconds later, a deafening blast shook the glacial cirque. Taylor and Jake looked at each other, astonished, while Cody burrowed deep between them.

  Almost immediately, they saw a bolt of lightning strike the ridge on the opposite side of the cirque, and another cannon blast of thunder assaulted them.

  “Man, this is better than the fireworks back home!” Taylor shouted over the roar of the storm.

  Jake nodded, but he wasn’t enjoying the display quite as much as his brother. What would Mom think, knowing that we were here now? If we’d stayed in Pittsburgh, at least we’d have food and a warm bed.

  Then he thought of Bull.

  No, he corrected himself. That psychopath would have found a way to get to us. As rough as this is, we’re better off here—no matter how dangerous it is.

  The boys continued to watch the spectacular lightning show. At one point, they saw a brilliant blue-white bolt strike a tree on the opposite ridge. He couldn’t tell for sure, but Jake thought he saw the tree glow orange and shatter the instant the lightning hit it.

  When the storm finally moved on, it left the tiny valley eerily quiet. Then Jake heard something that made him snap to attention.

  “Jake, did you hear that?”

  “Yeah—what was it?” Jake murmured. The boys listened hard and then heard the cry once more, clearly this time.

  “Jake!” Taylor said, straightening up. “Someone’s calling for help!”

  18 With Cody in the lead, the brothers scrambled out from under their overhang. By now the clouds had cleared, and the light from the waxing quarter moon illuminated the area with a surprisingly brilliant glow.

  “Which way was it coming from?” Jake asked.

  “Across there, I think. Near those trees.”

  The boys made their way to the other side of the cirque and paused, listening.

  “Help!” a strained voice called out.

  Following Cody, the boys reached the edge of a small group of trees at the base of a rocky slope. There, they found a man lying on the rough ground, his right arm pinned under a boulder the size of their dishwasher back home.

  Cody barked and ran up to the man, then licked his grizzled face.

  “Geez!” Taylor exclaimed. “What happened?”

  The man grunted in pain. “Wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Can you get this rock off me?”

  “Yeah, sure! Help me, Jake!”

  Together the boys squatted on either side of the man and reached under the edges of the boulder.

  “On three,” Jake said. “One, two, three, lift!”

  The boys grunted together, pushing off with their legs.

  The boulder didn’t budge.

  “Don’t think you’re gonna get her like that,” the man said. “Get the rope outta my pack.”

  A few yards away lay a large well-worn internal frame backpack.

  “Right pocket,” the man instructed.

  Jake unzipped the side pocket of the pack and pulled out a length of nylon climbing rope.

  “Either of you know how to tie a bowline knot?” the man asked.

  “We both do,” said Taylor. “We learned it at camp last summer.”

  “Good,” said the man, gasping. “Tie a big loop around the edge of this boulder with a bowline knot. Then toss the other end of the rope over that tree branch there.”

  The boys immediately saw what the man was getting at, and five minutes later they had assembled a makeshift pulley.

  “Okay, let’s try it again,” Jake told Taylor. “One, two, three!”

  They pulled on the rope.

  “It’s budging,” the man called. “Just a little more.”

  “Harder, Jake!” Taylor shouted.

  The boys redoubled their efforts. The branch of the tree creaked under the strain of the rope, but a sec
ond later the rock shifted and the man cried out in pain and relief, “I’m free!”

  Jake and Taylor released the rope, and the boulder settled back with a dull thud. The boys hurried to the man, who now sat dazed, grasping his right forearm.

  “Are you all right?” Taylor asked.

  The man growled like a bear. “I’m alive, thanks to you boys, but I think I’ve got a broken arm.”

  Even in the moonlight, Jake could see that the arm looked swollen and, despite the cold air, the man sweated with pain. “What can we do to help?”

  The man grunted again. “I think you’re going have to splint it for me. You know how to do that?”

  Jake shook his head. “No. We didn’t get that far in first aid.”

  “Okay, then. You’re going to need a straight, wide stick, about a foot long, and a few strips of cloth. You can tear up one of my shirts in the pack there.”

  While the boys worked, they asked the man what had happened.

  “I was tracking Felix with the antenna there,” the man said, nodding to a smashed-up framework of wires and poles on the nearby ground.

  “Who’s Felix?” Taylor asked, holding the piece of wood firmly under the man’s forearm.

  “Felix is a wolverine,” the man told them. “One of about a dozen living in the Tetons–Yellowstone area. Anyway, he was on the move, and I was scrambling up those rocks, trying to keep up, when that storm moved in. Felix came straight down this steep slope, and I scurried down after him.”

  “You mean during the hailstorm?” Jake asked, tying the second of four pieces of cotton cloth to hold the splint in place. The man winced as Jake pulled the knot snug.

  “Yeah,” he continued. “I was scrambling down when a bolt of lightning hit right there above us. Set off a rockslide that knocked my feet out from under me. Next thing I knew, I was lying on my back, pinned under this boulder like the tail pinned on—or under—a donkey!”

  “You’re lucky those rocks didn’t bury you!” Taylor told him.

  “You got that right—thank God you showed up!”

  Jake tied off the last of the splint and then, following the man’s instructions, helped tie a sling with the rest of the spare shirt. The man tested it and murmured with approval.

  “Not a bad field dressing. Maybe I should bring you guys along on all my tracking trips. Name’s Skeet, by the way.”

  The man held out his good hand.

  Jake shook it. “Uh, nice to meet you.” Despite having just saved the man’s life, Jake felt reluctant to reveal his and Taylor’s identities. For once, Taylor picked up on Jake’s cue. To turn the attention away from themselves, Jake said, “You said you were tracking here. You were hunting the wolverine? To eat?”

  The man chortled. “I don’t think they’d taste very good. You ever seen a wolverine?”

  The boys shook their heads.

  “They’re not much bigger than your buddy there,” he said, pointing to Cody. “But pound-for-pound, they’re the strongest, fiercest animals in the mountains here. I’d take on a grizzly bear any day before I’d face down an angry wolverine.”

  Looking at the man, Jake could imagine him tackling either one. In addition to his deely tanned face, he had long hair pulled back into a ponytail and a long salt-and-pepper beard. The man’s muscles stood out from his arms and neck like steel bridge cables.

  “Anyway,” Skeet continued, “the park service pays me to follow and collect data on wolverines in the area. The wolverines are about the most rare and endangered mammal in the lower forty-eight.”

  “Endangered? How come?” Taylor asked.

  “They used to be trapped and hunted. Now global warming is melting off a lot of the snowfields they need to survive. Anyway,” the man said, struggling to his feet, “enough about me. What are you two boys doing out here all alone?”

  Again, Jake and Taylor glanced at each other, neither one responding. Skeet picked up on it.

  “Okay, I get it,” he said. “But let me ask you this: would either of you object to a hot bath and a warm meal?”

  The brothers broke into a grin, and Jake’s stomach rumbled so loudly, he thought he could hear it echo off the walls of the cirque.

  “That’s what I figured,” said Skeet. “If one of you can carry my pack, I’ll lead the way.”

  While Taylor went back to the overhang to retrieve their own packs, Jake found Skeet a good walking stick and gave him a painkiller from his first aid kit. Then Jake hoisted the man’s pack. It was heavy—maybe fifty pounds—but a lot more comfortable than the flimsy things he and Taylor had been hauling around. When Taylor returned, the group set off following a small stream toward Jackson Lake.

  In the bright moonlight, Skeet had no trouble leading them. Every once in a while, he took a bad step and grunted or winced in pain, but they made swift progress to the lake, where they picked up a well-worn hiking trail. Soon after, they arrived at a beat-up green International pickup truck parked at the end of a little-used gravel track.

  “This isn’t an official parking area, but the park service guys all recognize the Green Monster here and leave ’er alone,” Skeet told them. “Just throw the packs in the back. Either of you fellas drive a stick shift?”

  “We don’t drive at all,” Taylor blurted.

  Skeet frowned, then looked up at the setting moon and sky full of stars. “Well, the good news is it’s a great night to start learning. My gear-shifting arm’s no good, but if one of you can shift, I think I can manage the pedals and steering wheel. Who wants to give shifting a whirl?”

  Jake was about to volunteer, but he looked at Taylor and said, “You do it.”

  Taylor’s face lit up. “Really, Jake?” he asked, forgetting to conceal their names.

  Jake nodded. “Yeah, Taylor. Go ahead.” He figured there was no longer any reason not to use Taylor’s name.

  With Skeet’s instructions, Taylor quickly figured out the truck’s ancient manual transmission. At first the gears gave off hideous grinding noises whenever he shifted, and once, while he was instructing Taylor, Skeet almost steered straight into a ponderosa pine. By the time they drove out of the park, however, Taylor was only grinding the gears every third or fourth shift.

  “Maybe we should try out for the NASCAR circuit,” Skeet joked.

  They drove about ten miles beyond the park’s border before turning onto a series of logging roads. They navigated the Green Monster along smaller and smaller roads before finally pulling the truck up to a small cabin made of hand-cut timbers.

  “Home, sweet home!” Skeet climbed out of the truck, again wincing in pain, while Jake and Taylor pulled the backpacks from the truck.

  “Good job driving,” Jake told Taylor as Skeet led them to the cabin. Taylor beamed.

  Skeet pushed through the cabin door and opened a couple of shutters to let in some light. “It isn’t much,” he said, “but it’s all mine and it’s hard to find.”

  Jake put down their packs, and he and Taylor stared in wonder at the cabin. They saw hardly any lights or electrical appliances anywhere, but dominating the center of the far wall was an old woodburning stove with a black cylindrical pipe rising through the ceiling. To one side stood a simple bed, built from wrist-thick logs, and on the other side, next to a window, sat a handmade wooden table with three wooden chairs surrounding it.

  The cabin’s walls, though, really caught the boys’ attention. Dozens of wooden pegs had been inserted into the log beams, and from them hung an astounding assortment of tools, traps, weapons, lamps, rope, pots, frying pans—everything a person needed to survive. On the walls next to the door, Skeet had built several shelves loaded with jars of canned fruits and vegetables and meats, along with flour, sugar, molasses, rice, and other staples.

  “Cool!” Taylor exclaimed.

  Cody obviously agreed, and set about sniffing two large bearskin rugs spread across the cabin floor.

  Jake said, “You must have been living out here for a long time.”

 
; “Yep,” Skeet said. “But we’ve got plenty of time to chat later. You boys fix us some breakfast while I find a proper splint for this arm here.”

  Skeet dug out an enormous first aid box that seemed hopelessly modern compared to the rest of the cabin. Armed with real matches for a change, Taylor quickly got a fire going in the wood stove, while Jake took out a frying pan and began studying the shelves.

  “Why don’t you open a couple of cans of corned beef and hash?” Skeet suggested. “Then head out to the cold box. I think I got a few eggs in there.”

  Outside, Jake found a wooden storage box sunk deeply into the north side of the hill. He unlatched the two wooden bolts on the door, and inside, he found a dozen eggs along with two sides of what looked like cured deer meat. By the time he got back, Taylor had the fire blazing, so Jake dumped half the eggs and the corned beef into the frying pan and soon had the mixture sizzling away on the stove. Fifteen minutes later, they all sat down to breakfast.

  “Not bad,” Skeet said, shoving a big spoonful of eggs and hash into his mouth. “It seems like you’ve done this before.”

  “Our mom’s been sick,” Taylor explained between bites. “Jake here does most of the cooking.”

  Skeet nodded, and they all finished eating in silence.

  Afterward, Skeet told them to fill up two large pots of water from the well outside. “It’s to wash the dishes,” he explained. “And I imagine you boys could use a bath, too, eh? I’ve got a few solar panels on the roof, and later in the day they’ll turn out some warm water, but for now, we’ll just have to make do with the stove.”

  After the heavy meal, fatigue had begun to settle in, but they did as Skeet told them, boiling the water, cleaning up the dishes, and then mixing the rest of the hot water with cold water in a large steel tub about fifty feet from the cabin.

  By the time they’d washed and hung up their clothes, Jake and Taylor were so tired, they could barely stand up straight. Skeet didn’t look much peppier. Even though the sun had climbed well above the tree line, Skeet said, “Well, boys, now that the chores are done, I think we could all use a little shut-eye, don’t you agree?”

  “You got that right,” Taylor said, sighing.