The Glasgow Gray: Spot and Smudge - Book 2

by Robert Udulutch

  Hamish was impressive, too. The pups could of course carry on entire conversations with Ben from a distance, but for another human to convey instructions and read feedback with regular dogs at this speed while running silently through the snow was pretty amazing.

  Christa was right, Spot signed under the fur blanket to his sister and Ben, He is truly very good at what he does.

  Spot looked up at Ben and he read his pup’s thought without the need for signing. “Soon, maybe,” Ben whispered.

  Hamish brought the team to a silent halt. He leaned close to Ben’s ear and whispered for him to have the pups stay as he quietly slid a rifle out of the sled. They left the sled and walked carefully into the trees, with Ben stretching his gate to step into the holes left by Hamish’s boots.

  The forest sloped down, and after a few minutes they came to the edge of the woods on a bluff above the river. They moved into a thick stand of trees and Hamish turned and pressed a fingertip to his lips before he slipped under the back side of a huge pine tree. Its snow-filled overhanging branches bent down to almost touch the drift in front of them, creating a dark space that made an effective blind. From the gap they had a good view of the river, and the falls that gurgled softly just below the ridge. Water tumbled down the thirty meter jumble of ice covered rocks before spreading out into a wide basin at the bottom.

  Hamish scanned the river for a few long minutes and then pulled Ben slowly in front of him. He crouched down and pointed over Ben’s shoulder to a spot just below the falls, at the water’s edge where the basin widened.

  Standing on a boulder was a huge gray wolf.

  Hamish whispered almost inaudibly in Ben’s ear, “Lad, meet the Glasgow Gray.”

  She was an amazing animal. She had long legs and Ben guessed she was well over a meter tall at the shoulder, and easily over a hundred pounds. She was about the same size as Rook and Vuur but with a much thicker coat.

  Uncle brought up his rifle and let Ben look at the big wild dog through the scope.

  The wolf slowly scanned the river bed and the woods beyond, sampling the air and rotating her ears but otherwise standing perfectly still. If Hamish hadn’t pointed her out Ben would have never seen her. She blended into the mottled colors of the snow and rocks perfectly.

  Glasgow was also beautiful. She was indeed all light gray with just a little white on her cheeks and chin, and down her front. Ben could just make out the black curve of her radio collar under the fur of her neck. When she finally stared in Ben’s direction he was sure she could see right into his eyes. Even from two hundred meters away he could see the intelligence in her stare.

  Sensing Ben’s reaction Hamish whispered, “Aye, she gives you a chill doesn’t she? Still does for me too, lad. Every time.”

  Ben nodded. Even with his uncle’s deep, low voice he could still hear he was excited.

  Hamish said, “I call her Glasgow ‘cause she’s a big, tough, cold bitch and yet I can’t help but love her. You’re looking at a million years of amazing evolution in those eyes, Ben. The most effective large predator on land, second only to the painted dogs of Africa. A bear or bull moose might take her on but with her pack she’s almost unstoppable. The only thing that can really fuck with her is us, but don’t let her calm demeanor fool you. Look at her big feet, and the muscles under that fur. In deep snow she can hit forty miles an hour in less than three strides, so don’t blink if you ever have to pull the trigger. You likely won’t get a second shot.”

  For the next hour they watched the wolves. The rest of the pack had slipped from the woods behind Glasgow and came to the water’s edge to drink and fish. There was another pair of breeding females and their mates that were just a little smaller than Glasgow, and there were several young juveniles.

  Hamish explained the youngest members of the pack were nine months old, having been born in early spring, and after two recent growth spurts were almost full height. The adult mating females, including Glasgow, would probably get pregnant again soon if they weren’t already.

  “Just like coyotes,” Ben whispered, “Ours mate in January and pup in March. Sixty three day gestation?”

  Hamish nodded, impressed he knew those facts but not sure what Ben meant by “ours”.

  He pointed out two older yearlings from the previous spring and explained they would probably venture off sometime in the next year or so. Hamish told Ben he had brought other wolves into the park from varied bloodlines. They had met young adults from this pack and already established two smaller packs of their own to the north just in the last year.

  The adults had waded into the water up to their ankles and slapped at fish as they cruised past. The juveniles weren’t quite as subdued and raced into the water after the trout, pouncing on them and coming up empty.

  Glasgow stood motionless in the icy water for a full minute, staring down without so much as an ear twitch. In a flash she swatted a huge fish out of the water and up to the waiting youngsters on the bank.

  As Ben watched them pull the fish apart Hamish grabbed his chin and slowly turned it upriver to the top of the falls.

  Barely fifty meters in front of them another massive gray wolf stood on the far bank. Its head was lowered and its ears were laid back on its head, and it was staring right at them.

  Hamish took the rifle silently from Ben’s hands.

  Chapter 29

  Alpha stood at the top of the falls, not moving.

  He stared into the dark space below the branches on the other side of the river. He’d picked up the scent almost by accident. He wasn’t on the lookout for humans today but when he sampled them, and their captive dogs further up the ridge, he changed course to check them out. His mate was below the falls with the pack and she’d looked up when he stopped. She could see he wasn’t overly worried and turned back to teaching the younger ones how to fish.

  From his vantage point at the top of the falls he could see there were two humans, one grown and one young. He’d smelled this larger human many times before and didn’t think him a threat but there were strange things in the woods these days and Alpha was suspicious of everything.

  Normally he would have joined his pack earlier but he was on constant watch duty now. The moose carcasses they came across earlier bothered him. They had been taken down by wolves, but not any wolves he knew. There were no rogues or lone young male Casanova wolves in their forest. He and his pack had been moved here several winters ago from their home far to the north, and they hadn’t encountered any rogues since establishing their new range here. Several of their young had grown and met smaller groups, and headed off to make their own packs. They still ran into them from time to time, but the wolves that had taken down the moose were different, and smelled very wrong. They didn’t come into his forest by any of the normal routes. They just appeared a few days ago and had been stinking up the forest, and killing, ever since.

  The most troubling thing was they had taken down an entire moose family and had not eaten a thing.

  Alpha stayed at the top of the falls for a few more minutes watching the humans. They weren’t making any aggressive moves and he was pretty sure they were just here to watch as the big human had always done in the past. He could see the fear and proper respect in their eyes, and yet the calm as well. Alpha had learned long ago how to spot humans who came to hunt.

  Still, they were human, and had a weapon. A little warning never hurt. Alpha stiffened and lowered. He straightened his tail and curled his upper lip slightly as he fixed them with his best warning stare. He held it for moment, and when he was satisfied his point had been made he bound away, picking his way deftly down the icy rocks to join his mate.

  Glasgow saw her Alpha at the top of the falls and could tell he wasn’t worried about whatever it was he had detected in the woods beyond the river. She wasn’t able to tell exactly what had been moving around in the trees but doubted the dangerous wolves they were keeping an eye out for would just sit still under branches for very long.

>   She was just as concerned as her mate by the senseless violence they’ve been witnessing. It was too human for her liking and taking down a full grown healthy bull moose wasn’t easy, or advisable. Nor was taking on a moose mother. The rogues’ scents and the odd kills had started in the last few days and they were coming across more places the rogues had been. Glasgow was sure these dangerous creatures were circling in towards her pack and she was afraid it was only a matter of time before their paths crossed.

  She had dealt with rogues before in their old home range, and usually her Alpha would turn them away handily. Once, when she was a newly breeding female her pack had an older Alpha who fell to a rogue but it was over quickly and the new order was established in seconds.

  Protecting and teaching the young was primary for all wolves, even rogues looking to make trouble or Casanovas looking to mate. Turf wars and dominance challenges took a back seat when the pups were in danger, even if the top females like Glasgow had to remind the males of it once in a while. Her current Alpha, the one she’d been with since moving to these woods, was the strongest she’d known. He’s a masterful hunter and good with the pack.

  Still, she was worried as these new rogue wolves were dangerous, and perhaps looking for something different than just a new pack to claim as their own.

  Her Alpha joined Glasgow at the water’s edge and she licked his muzzle and head butted him, Any sign?

  No, Alpha indicated, Those were just humans, the big one who watches and a young one. Their captive dogs are up the hill. Nothing more from the rogues. I assume they’re somewhere over the south ridge but it’s hard to tell for sure, I think they are running in circles sometimes.

  Come, eat, Glasgow nudged, sensing his frustration, I fear we’re all going to need our strength.

  Chapter 30

  The truck’s headlights lit up a bullet-hole ridden road sign.

  “PIEGE,” Ben read, “Gateway to the north. Population five hundred and ten.”

  Ben noticed the original printed population of five hundred and twelve had been crossed out and the current total with two fewer people had been painted in below it by hand.

  “That’s pretty funny,” Ben said.

  “Probably not so fucking funny to five hundred eleven and twelve,” Hamish said, “They both must have been good shots.”

  Hamish slowed the truck just long enough to prevent the bottom from being torn out as they rumbled over a horrible pair of railroad tracks.

  “Goes to the ore mine,” he said, noticing Ben looking at the rusty tracks and the lights in the distance, “Not used as often as back in the mine’s heyday. Cheaper steel from overseas been biting them hard for a long time now.”

  They sped on for another half kilometer before veering off the paved road to a deeply rutted gravel road. The road ended at an open gate and a well-lit parking area. At the back of the lot Hamish came to a sliding stop in front of a two story corrugated metal and cinderblock building. It had a dozen small windows just below the roofline that were covered with heavy black rebar grates. The building looked to be well-maintained. It was newly painted a deep blue and had a row of small evergreens in stone raised beds along its front. It also looked to be very secure. Ben noticed three cameras covered the lot, and it was surrounded by a high chain link fence. There were two other pickup trucks and a Land Rover parked in front of the building, and a big white utility truck with red stripes and two orange light bars on top.

  “Piege Tournage Club,” Ben said, reading the lighted sign mounted above a large metal door and a wide set of pre-fab concrete steps.

  Spot and Smudge poked their heads into the front seat with their front paws on the center console. Smudge licked Hamish.

  “Aye, you’re coming in,” Hamish said, and then fought off more kisses.

  They stepped into the building. It was dimly lit except for a pool of light over a bar and a round table at the far side of the room. Seated around the table was a small group of people who yelled in unison when they saw who had come through the door. “Hamish! Sholto!” they called out as they held up beer cans and drink glasses. One of the men threw Sholto a pretzel when she got close enough to catch it.

  Ben and the pups followed Hamish towards the group as they walked between a long glass counter and several display tables. The wall behind the counter held well over a hundred guns. They were lined up in neat columns, one above the other on small pegs, running the length of the front of the building. Ben could identify some of them, the shotguns and rifles, but then the guns started to look more exotic, and more lethal. Under the counter’s glass was a staggering variety of handguns and knives, and the display tables running down the center of the room held a mixture of folded clothes, gun cases, scopes, and some high-tech stuff Ben didn’t recognize. Everything was neatly stacked and the floor was carpeted. It felt like a nicer retail store.

  They walked up to the table and an older woman with dark skin and a camouflage baseball cap smiled a big smile and held out her hand as she said, “You must be Ben. God you look just like your handsome dad.”

  Hamish introduced him around the table as they sat down and the woman poured drinks from the fully stocked bar. The group took turns conveying their condolences about Ben’s grandfather. As they started to share their fond memories of Papa, and stories of his parents and Mimi, and his sister’s recent visit, the pups followed Sholto and headed off to sniff and explore.

  At the back of the room was a thick glass wall that looked out over an indoor shooting range. There were only a few dim lights on and Ben could barely see the far wall, it looked to be hundreds of meters away and had tiny targets mounted to it.

  Ben watched the dogs follow the shepherd as she zig-zagged through offset glass panels and headed off into the range. The panels created a doorway in the thick glass wall so that a stray bullet from the range beyond couldn’t hit anything in the front counter area. Next to the bar was an industrial looking stove with a fire glowing inside. The stove had large black vent tubes running up from the back that curved and spread out across the ceiling at the front of the building, and turned into the shooting range.

  Lissa Chogin, the woman in the cap, asked Hamish if he’d heard about the wolf incident yet.

  Hamish had not.

  Ben learned Lissa was the detonation specialist at another ore mine an hour south of town. She had a slight French accent but Ben thought she looked like she might be aboriginal, maybe part of the First Peoples based on what he read on the drive up, what would be Native American south of the border.

  Lissa said, “You should try to catch Willie in town before his group heads back out tomorrow. He says they had a strange encounter with one of our wolves. Some woman from the states, Chicago I think, or Ohio?” She turned to her husband who just shook his head before she continued, “Anyway, she snuck off for a piss break and says she was assaulted by an enormous wolf.”

  “Assaulted?” Hamish said with a raised bushy eyebrow.

  “Yah,” Lissa said, “Apparently a lunatic wolf of incredible proportions rushed her from across the river and displayed every intention of ripping her face off. It allegedly growled, barked, and snapped at her. It dove into the river a few times but the current kept it from crossing. It would get out, shake off, go nuts, and try to kill her all over again.”

  “Aye?” Hamish said, “Sounds like there was at least one lunatic in the glen.”

  The table nodded in agreement.

  Ben learned this shooting club was the driving force supporting Hamish’s wolf project. They had immediately appreciated the environmental and economic value when he proposed it and had been there every step of the way to help it come to fruition. Apparently exaggerated stories of wolf encounters had been a common nuisance since the first days of the reintroduction.

  “Oh, that reminds me,” Greer Nellis said. Greer and his wife Ellena were retired lawyers from Ottawa. They owned a sporting ranch on the opposite side of Christa’s valley and specialized in custom excur
sions into the park. They were avid fishermen but their real passion was shooting, and getting sloshed. Often they did both here at the shooting club they owned. In their voices Ben heard more of the iconic Canuk laden English he’d been expecting, where the other people he’d met so far had predominantly French accents. Lissa simply called them Blocheads, which prompted Ellena to fire back at Lissa’s aboriginal roots by calling her a Chug. Ben could tell these terms would be considered extremely derogatory anywhere outside of the love shared around this table, where Hamish fit right in.

  Greer downed his beer and said, “Our daughter was out on her machine early this morning and spotted a winter brown bear on the pike trail above the mine just at the ridge of your valley, you know. The poor hungry thing was trying to fish. She thought she saw a geezly chunk taken out of its shoulder but couldn’t be sure. She didn’t see any cubs but she also didn’t wait around too long, if you know what I mean.”

  In response to Ben’s curious look Lissa said, “Ben, a winter bear is one that has been woken up from his winter slumber. They can be dangerous as they are hungry and there isn’t much food, especially if she has cubs. Winter bears are responsible for some of the worst unprovoked attacks, and brown bears can be downright ornery anyways.”

  “What wakes them up?” Ben asked.

  The dogs had returned and were making the rounds, getting scratches and pats. Smudge had her head in Lissa’s lap and was in heaven. The woman had strong hands and found one of Smudge’s favorite rubbing spots just behind her ears.

  “Could be many things,” Lissa said, “but big old bears usually find a good den and sleep deeply, so a winter bear like that one is thankfully pretty rare.”

  Sitting next to Lissa was her husband, Hurrit ‘Harry’ Chogin. He had a round brown face and extremely thick glasses covering eyes that were barely slits. Ben thought the couple could be from the same native group. Harry had sat quietly with his chubby arms folded over his oval body and hadn’t said a thing during the entire conversation. He just watched attentively as others spoke while he fed the dogs pretzels.