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WOLF STALKER

A MYSTERY IN YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

GLORIA SKURZYNSKI AND ALANE FERGUSON

For Barbara Lalicki

Together again, the three of us

Copyright © 1997 Gloria Skurzynski and Alane Ferguson

Cover illustration copyright © 2007 Jeffery Mangiat

All rights reserved.

Reproduction of the whole or any part of the contents is prohibited without written permission from the National Geographic Society, 1145 17th Street N.W., Washington, D.C. 20036.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to living persons or events other than descriptions of natural phenomena is purely coincidental.

Map by Matthew Frey—Wood Ronsaville Harlin, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Skurzynski, Gloria

Wolf stalker / Gloria Skurzynski and Alane Ferguson p. cm.—(A national parks mystery; #1)

Summary: Twelve-year-old Jack, his younger sister, and the family’s teenage foster child Troy go to Yellowstone National Park, where Jack’s mother, a wildlife veterinarian, is investigating the report that wolves reintroduced to the park have killed a dog there.

ISBN: 978-1-4263-0964-9

[1. Wolves—Fiction. 2. Wildlife reintroduction—Fiction. 3. Wildlife conservation—Fiction. 4. Yellowstone National Park—Fiction. 5. National parks and reserves—Fiction. 6. Mystery and detective stories.]I. Ferguson, Alane. II. Title. III. Series.

PZ7.S6287Wo 1997 97-11125

[Fic]—DC21

Version: 2017-07-05

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The authors are grateful for the valuable

information provided so generously by

Mike Phillips, Wolf Restoration Program Leader,

Yellowstone National Park;

Marsha Karle, Chief of Public Affairs,

Yellowstone National Park;

Elden Naranjo, Tribal Historian for

the Southern Ute Tribe;

Bruce L. Smith, Wildlife Biologist,

National Elk Refuge, Jackson, Wyoming;

and Larry F. Jones, ballistics expert.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

AFTERWORD

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

A soulful howl rose, fell, and then faded. It told the man he was zeroing in on his prey. As he fingered the barrel of his rifle, his eyes searched the thick forest growth for signs of his enemy. There! A flash of black fur followed by a streak of silver—instantly he raised his rifle, but before he could take aim, the wolves disappeared into the brush. Once again, they had escaped his bullet.

“Don’t care how long it takes,” he murmured. “You’re mine.” Slinging his rifle across his shoulder, the man impatiently pushed at branches hanging in his line of sight. Morning light dappled Yellowstone National Park, turning the autumn grass into pale gold. Intent on his quest, the man didn’t notice.

He was the stalker; the wolves, his prey….

CHAPTER ONE

“Can’t you put some quarters in the slot or something to make it shoot off?” Troy asked. “We’ve been waiting forever.”

Jack looked up sharply.

He didn’t know Troy well enough to tell if he was joking. Ashley, though, burst out laughing.

“Mom!” she yelled. “Troy said we should put money in a slot to make Old Faithful start. Like it was a video game or something. Isn’t that funny?”

Olivia Landon smiled, but Jack could tell his mother was distracted. She stared intently at a cellular phone she was holding. “Mmm,” she murmured, which meant she hadn’t really noticed what anyone was saying.

Ashley tried again. “Mom—”

Suddenly, their mother seemed to focus. “I’m sorry, honey. It’s just—every minute that slips by makes it harder for me to analyze the killing scene.” Turning the cell phone in her hand, she frowned and said, “I should have gotten the call an hour ago. I hope nothing’s gone wrong….”

“So what are we supposed to do in the meantime—just stand here forever?” Troy growled.

Jack felt his stomach clamp with anger. He wished he could dump Troy right into Old Faithful and watch him melt, but his father’s expression warned him to keep quiet.

Steven Landon explained, “Until Mike’s call comes, we might as well stay here.” Mike was the head of Yellowstone’s Wolf Restoration Program. The Landons were supposed to meet him that afternoon, but they didn’t know where. “Meanwhile, we can watch Old Faithful erupt,” Steven added.

“Watch what? Nothing’s happening,” Troy said.

Olivia patted the bench, inviting Troy to sit beside her. But of course he wouldn’t. He kept standing there. “Don’t worry, Troy,” she began. “It will happen—”

Fists jammed into the pockets of his cheap bomber jacket, Troy walked away.

Olivia and Steven Landon exchanged glances. Their look meant that Troy Haverson had better be watched. They were responsible for him. He was their temporary foster child.

“Will you go after him, Steven?” Olivia asked. “I want to dial Mike’s number again. I can’t figure out why I haven’t heard from him.”

“No problem. I’ll get Troy.” Steven ambled after the scowling boy, and when he caught up to him, put his hand on Troy’s shoulder. “Old Faithful will start up any minute now,” he said. “It’s pretty spectacular—you’ll want to see the whole thing right from the beginning.”

“Who says?” Troy muttered, but he let Steven lead him back toward the Landon family group.

Luckily, right then Old Faithful did begin to rumble. Gurgling, splashing, it slid tentative, watery fingers aboveground. Then, as if to test the world of daylight, the first narrow column of water and steam rushed up, and a cheer rose from the hundreds of visitors ringed around the viewing area.

After the watery column fell back, sudden bursts bubbled up one right after the other, making sounds like waves on a seashore. They rose, fell, and rose again to even greater heights. Puffs of vapor at the top of the column got caught by wind, while the heavier drops splashed back onto the ground. At the peak of the eruption, Old Faithful shot nearly 200 feet into the clear blue sky, looking as if it might touch a cloud, just as white, that floated overhead. Roaring, throbbing, the column of water and steam widened into a wall of mist that drifted like a curtain across a stage before it began its descent. Slowlysubsiding, it fell to earth to collect underground for the next performance. In another hour—more or less.

“Ten thousand gallons of superheated steam—wow!” Steven exclaimed.

“The early Indians called this place ‘water that keeps on coming out,’” Ashley said. “How’d you like it, Troy?”

If Troy was impressed, he wasn’t going to admit it. Ignoring Ashley, he asked Steven, “So why didn’t you take pictures? You’re supposed to be a photographer.”

“He’s a great photographer,” Jack declared.

“At home I’ve got lots of shots of Old Faithful. Mostly, now, I photograph wildlife. Elk and bison and mountain lions—”

“Yeah?” Troy shrugged. “They told me you just work in some fast-photo shop developing film.”

Steven flushed a little, but he answered patiently, “That’s my day job. If I could make a living photographing animals full-time, that’s what I’d do.”

Jack couldn’t stand it. Why was his father being so polite? And so was his mother, and so was his sister Ashley, as if Troy were some special, important guest the Landon family had to fuss over and make as welcome as possible, instead of just the obnoxious punk kid that he really was.

Almost from the first minute he’d met him, Jack had wanted to take a punch at Troy.

When the doorbell rang the night before, all the Landons had gathered in the entryway. After taking a deep breath, Olivia reached out to open the front door wide.

“Hi. I’m Theresa Lopez,” a woman with curling gray hair had said, at the same time grabbing the area right above Troy’s elbow to lead him inside. “And this is Troy Haverson.”

Shuffling, head down, Troy hung back behind the social worker. Right off, Jack could tell he didn’t have a lot of money. Not that the Landon family did either, but Troy looked different, more raw than the kids who lived in Jack’s neighborhood. His black bomber jacket was plastic, not leather; the kind with cheap silver zippers that didn’t close right. His sneakers were so worn the sides had pulled away from the canvas like strips of rubber lettuce. On the step next to him was a cardboard box he was using as a suitcase. Bands of duct tape had been wrapped around it; on top, the tape looped into a makeshift handle.

Jack wanted to smile at Troy, to try to be nice so his dad would be pleased. It was Steven’s idea that the family take in short-term foster kids, to “put something back into the system,” as Steven phrased it. But Troy kept his eyes down and his face turned away.

Looking grave, the social worker said, “This guy has had a pretty rough go of it, but I know he’s going to be fine. He really appreciates you helping him out on such short notice. Right, Troy?”

“Mm.” Troy pulled his hands from his pockets, crunching his fists tightly against his sides. Squeeze, relax, squeeze, relax; it was as if he could barely hold himself together inside his skin.

He was tall, taller than Jack, and thicker in the chest and arms. Even though he was only 13, a faint mustache shadowed his upper lip. Dark eyebrows knit over the bridge of his nose. For an instant his chin bobbed up; wary brown eyes skimmed the Landon family, then dropped again. Stringy hair hung over Troy’s face like a curtain drawn against intruders. To Jack, the boy looked meaner than a trash dog. How long, Jack wondered, was this shelter kid going to need sheltering?

“Great to meet you, Troy,” Steven Landon said heartily. “You’re welcome here.”

“Yes, Troy, we’re all so happy to meet you,” Olivia told him.

Ignoring her, Troy asked flatly, “When can I go to my room?” A look passed between Jack’s mother and father and the social worker until it came around and rested on Troy once again.

“How about now?” Steven answered. “Son, take Troy to where he’s staying, and make sure you show him the bathroom and the kitchen while you’re at it. Your mother and I need to talk to Ms. Lopez for a minute.”

Troy grabbed the duct-tape handle and followed Jack down the hallway. Brushing past Jack, he walked into the guest room just as Jack was about to announce, “This is it.”

In the silence, Troy’s glance darted around the room. Jack tried again. “The bathroom’s through that door, and the kitchen’s—”

“The room with the refrigerator, right?” Shaking his head, Troy snorted as if Jack were the stupidest person in the world. He didn’t seem to notice the navy bedspread Olivia Landon had so carefully washed and smoothed out, or the wicker basket filled with apples Steven had placed on the dresser, or the computer banner Ashley’d made to welcome him.

“Okay,” Jack said slowly. “So you’ve already figured out our house. Do you need anything else?” He hoped the answer would be no, because all he wanted was to escape into his own room and hide.

Troy flopped onto the bed. He kicked off one shoe by using the toe of his other foot. The worn sneaker flew into the air before hitting the wall with a thud.

Repeating the process on the other shoe, he asked, “So what did they say about me? Did they tell you my mom just walked out the door and didn’t come back?”

Taken by surprise, Jack didn’t know what to answer. He just nodded.

“Liars. They’re all a bunch of freakin’ liars. My mom would never leave me. Never.”

But she had. According to the report given to the Landon family by the Department of Social Services, Troy’s mother had simply disappeared, leaving him all alone, with no food and no money.

“Something bad must have happened to her,” Troy insisted.

“Did you tell the police?” Jack asked.

Troy laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Yeah—I stayed on my own for two days, then I called the cops. Big mistake. They took down all the stuff I told them, and then they asked who was stayin’ with me and I said ‘No one. I can handle it. You guys just find my mom.’ So instead the cops called the Social Services and they came and got me.”

“Well, when your mom comes back, they’ll let her know where you are and everything’ll work out OK.”

“Don’t you listen?” Anger crackled from his voice and his dark eyes. Jack had never met anyone who seethed the way Troy seemed to, as if emotional lava was roiling just beneath his skin and any second could erupt. “My—mom’s—in—some—kind—of—trouble! I need to be home so I can find her.”

“But you can’t stay all by yourself.”

“Why not? I don’t need anybody.” Leaning back, Troy knit his fingers together and rested his head in them. Suddenly Ashley came bowling into the room and ran smack into Jack’s back.

“Sorry, Jack. Hi, Troy.”

Troy gave Ashley a little wave, but to Jack it looked more like a put-down than a hello.

“Jack, guess what?” Ashley exclaimed. “Something happened! Didn’t you hear the phone?”

“No.”

“Mom got a call, and this guy says wolves came down and ate his dog even though it wasn’t doing anything and it’s been on talk radio and stuff and now they need Mom to figure out what happened.”

“Does she always talk so fast?” Troy asked.

She did, but Jack didn’t like Troy enough to tell him so.

“Ms. Lopez told Mom it’s OK to take Troy with us, but we have to get ready right away. We need to hurry up and pack!”

“Wait a minute, did she just say I’m going somewhere?” Troy demanded. “No way!”

Ashley’s large brown eyes widened even more. “But we’ve got to go! If we don’t, they might kill all the wolves!”

“Hold it!” Jack said, taking her arm. “Just slow down and start again. Where are we going?”

“To save the wolves. We’re leaving tomorrow morning, first thing.”

“What wolves?”

“Didn’t you listen?” Exasperated, looking from Jack to Troy and back, Ashley said, “The wolves they put in the park. They’re saying they’re too wild and mean. They’re saying that the wolves are gonna start killing people next. Mom said that’s not right, so that’s why we’re going there.”

“Going where?” Jack yelled.

“I already told you where. The park! Yellowstone.”

At that minute Olivia and Steven came crowding into the room behind Ashley. Jack knew how to read his mother’s eyes, and he could see that Olivia had become energized by this crisis, whatever it was. “Can you believe it?” she asked. “It’s lucky they called me on a weekend because now we can all go together. Tomorrow’s Saturday—we ought to be back late Sunday so you kids won’t miss any school.”

“We need to be packed and in the car no later than seven tomorrow morning—” Steven began, but Troy broke in.

“I’m outta here right now,” he said, jumping up from the bed. “No way am I gonna leave this town until I find my mom.” He would have rushed out of the room if Steven hadn’t shut the door hard and leaned against it from the inside.

“Outta my way, man!” Troy ordered.

Steven Landon knew how to approach frightened animals without threatening them. As if Troy were a cornered deer, he locked eyes with the boy, then slowly raised his hand, palm up. In a quiet voice Steven told him, “I think I know how you must feel, Troy. But if you leave here right now, the police will pick you up and you’ll spend the weekend in juvenile hall. And what good would that do anyone?”

Steven took a step closer. “Come with us, Troy. We’ll stay in phone contact with your social worker. As soon as there’s any news about your mother, you’ll be the first to find out. I promise.”

Troy no longer looked like a frightened animal, he looked like a caged animal. Coiled in a half-crouch, color staining his cheeks, he shouted, “This is supposed to be my room, right? Why are all of you in here? If I gotta be stuck with you in a car tomorrow, you need to give me some space now.” His voice broke. “OK?”

“Right!” Gesturing for her family to leave, Olivia said, “Let’s get started packing, kids. Tomorrow will begin early.”

Too early. By six that Saturday morning, at the day’s first pale light, Jack was fighting to hang onto his pillow while his father dragged him out of bed.

By seven, as the rosy glow from the sunrise lingered over the jagged, snow-capped peaks of the Grand Teton Mountain Range, all the Landons plus Troy were crowded into their jeep, heading for Yellowstone.

CHAPTER TWO

“Did you get hold of Mike?” Jack asked his mother. Olivia shook her head. Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “I am definitely getting worried. Something must have gone wrong. I think we better drive up to the wolf office.”

It was the weekend after Labor Day. Although Yellowstone still had plenty of visitors, the crowds were skimpy compared with the holiday jam-up a week earlier. Jack had been on this same walkway between Old Faithful and the parking lot when actual human gridlock occurred, and no one could move at all. Those times, he’d kept his eyes focused on his father’s blond head. At six foot three, Steven was pretty easy to follow in a crowd. Olivia got swallowed.

Jack looked like his father: tall, thin, and blond. Ashley was a young version of her mother: short and slightly built, with big dark eyes and dark hair that framed her face in gentle wisps. And right now, Ashley was babbling to strangers, the way she always did. In the stream of visitors heading for their cars, Ashley had picked out a silver-haired couple. Tagging along beside them, she said, “Wasn’t it great?”

“Fantastic,” the woman agreed.

“Have you ever seen it before?”

“No. We live in Minnesota,” the man answered.

Smiling, the woman asked, “So did you come to Yellowstone just to watch Old Faithful?”

“No, we’re here to help the wolves. My mom’s a wildlife veterinarian.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. She works at the National Elk Refuge in Jackson Hole, but sometimes she gets a call and she has to help the national parks in emergencies…”

That Ashley! Jack thought. As a baby, she’d always smiled at everyone she saw. Now here she was, almost 11, and still acting as though each person who crossed her path was a new friend just waiting to be discovered.

Jack wasn’t as trusting. Whenever they were out together, he made it his job to keep an eye on his sister, trying to prevent her from spilling the entire life stories of all the Landons into the ears of total strangers. This couple looked harmless enough—the man wore the usual tourist camera slung around his neck, and a floppy-brimmed hat on his head; his wife had on a pink sweatshirt that said Save the Whales. It matched the sun-tinted pink of her cheeks.

“Well, my husband and I love wolves. They have every right to be here in Yellowstone,” the woman told her.

“That’s what my mom thinks. It’s not their fault if a dog tries to mess with them.”

“Ashley—” Olivia began.

“It’s true! Isn’t that why we came here, Mom? Because that dog got killed yesterday by the wolves?” Turning back to the couple, Ashley said, “My mom’s investigating to find out what really happened when the dog got eaten, but it might be hard to tell if there’s not much left of him.”

“Goodness!” the woman said. “So you’re the one who’s investigating?” she asked Olivia.

Giving Ashley a look, Olivia hesitated before she answered, “I’m mostly here to gather some information. I hope to handle it quietly, so people won’t hear about the killing and become upset at the wolves.”

The man said, “Well, if you wanted to keep it a secret, you’re too late. I already heard about that wolf attack on the national news.”

Olivia squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, no.”

“And I ought to warn you—you’re going to be right in the middle of a big mess. When we came into the park this morning, demonstrators were picketing. Right outside the west gate. The news people were all over the place with TV cameras and everything.”

The man and woman took turns interrupting each other as they told the story: “People were carrying signs and yelling—”

“‘Get rid of the wolves, or we’ll do it for you—’”

“—and, ‘The only good wolf is a dead wolf.’”

“Who were these people?” Steven asked.

“Looked like a bunch of ranchers to me. From what their signs said, wolves have been eating their sheep and they don’t like it.”

“No, no, no,” the woman interrupted. “Ranchers were there, too, but most of the people were some kind of militia group. There are a lot of baldhead militia groups in this part of the country—”

The man laughed. “They’re called skinheads, Louise. Not baldheads.”

“Whatever. They kept yelling that bringing wolves to the park was government interference, and citizens’ rights were being trampled on—”

By then they’d all reached the Landons’ jeep in the parking lot. Troy lounged against the tailgate, looking bored, while Olivia and Steven extracted every bit of information they could from the Minnesota couple. As they parted, the woman called back, “We believe the wolves should be in Yellowstone, particularly since they were here first. But I think you’re going to have a real battle keeping them in the park.”

“They’re worth fighting for,” Olivia answered. She unlocked the door and said, “Get in the jeep, kids. We need to find out what’s been going on around here.”

On the way to Yellowstone, Jack had been stuck for four long hours sitting in the back seat beside sullen, surly Troy Haverson. Ashley had it even worse: To leave enough room for the two boys, she’d been crammed into the jeep’s tailgate, with backpacks and totes and extra parkas and Steven’s cases of camera equipment. Now they were back in the jeep again, but this time they wouldn’t have far to go.

Stands of lodgepole pine lined both sides of the road. Some clumps were tall and green. Others had been burned black from forest fires; their skinny trunks stood straight up like charred toothpicks. For anyone who hadn’t seen it before, the evidence of fire’s devastation must have been startling. But Troy stayed slumped in his corner, hardly noticing, saying nothing.

Steven was driving, which left Olivia free to turn around in her seat to tempt Troy into conversation—or at least into some kind of response. “This is probably all new to you, but the fight over the wolves goes way back. Did you know, Troy,” she began, “that wolves roamed Yellowstone for thousands of years? Then when people first moved into this area more than a century ago, they killed the wolves for their pelts—you know, their fur?”

“Yeah, that’s right, Mom.” Ashley chimed in because she knew the story almost as well as her mother did. “After that, ranchers started poisoning the wolves because they chased after sheep and cattle. And pretty soon there weren’t any wolves left. For more than 60 years, not a single wolf in all of Yellowstone. Now we’ve got them back again, but….” Her face clouded. “It sounds like they’re in trouble.”

Troy just looked out the window. Jack thought he wasn’t going to answer at all, but then he muttered, “So wolves got screwed up when people started messing in their lives, right?”

Olivia hesitated. “Well…yes. I guess you could say that.”

“And they would have been a whole lot better off if people had just left them alone. Right?”

It was a question that wasn’t quite a question. Was he talking about the wolves or about himself, Jack wondered.

Olivia took the hint and left Troy to his own thoughts. She faced forward again, took out her cell phone, and punched in Mike’s number. Once more she only got his answering machine. This time she didn’t bother to leave a message.

Steven turned on the car radio, maybe so the two of them could talk about Troy without being overheard. Or talk about the wolves, or the demonstrators, or about what they were going to do now since they couldn’t connect with Mike.

“Can’t you put on some better music, Mom?” Jack asked. “That station’s dumb.”

“Yeah. Dumb,” Ashley echoed.

“OK.” Olivia started to change the dial on the car radio, but stopped abruptly.

“Listen!” she exclaimed.

“…question of wolves in Yellowstone. This is JJK-Talk Radio. Because of intense public interest, we’re rebroad-casting last night’s interview with Mr. George Campbell,” an announcer was saying. “Campbell is the man whose dog was viciously attacked and killed by wolves in Yellowstone yesterday. All right, folks, here we go. And after we play this, we’ll be ready to take your calls on this explosive issue.” There was a slight clicking sound, and then, “You told us, Mr. Campbell, that you weren’t actually in Yellowstone Park when your dog was murdered.”

“That’s right. I was hiking in Gallatin National Forest, which is right next to Yellowstone, when the wolves came after me and my dog.”

“So,” the announcer continued, “the wolf pack chased your golden retriever over the boundary line into Yellowstone.”

“You got it, Gary. I paid five hundred dollars for that dog when he was a pup. After I trained him to hunt, he was worth a whole lot more than that. Rex was the best hunting dog I ever owned. That wolf pack ran him down and ripped him up, and there was nothin’ I could do to save him. People better start being careful—before you know it, wolves’ll be snatching your dogs off your front porch and babies outta their—”

“That’s ridiculous!” Olivia was getting more upset. “Wolves don’t—”

“Take it easy.” Steven reached out his hand to calm her, then turned the radio louder.

“Mr. Campbell, there’s been some question about Rex being found inside Yellowstone Park. Just so our listeners understand, dogs are allowed in Gallatin National Forest, where you said you were, but no dog is allowed to roam Yellowstone’s back country. Not even on a leash.”

“Yeah, but see, Gary, I wasn’t in the park until after the wolves chased Rex across the boundary. I mean, I was close to Yellowstone, you know? Maybe even real close. But it was the wolves’ fault Rex ran into the park. They chased him, and then they killed him.”

Another click, and then the announcer said, “Okay, folks, that was last night. Now it’s Saturday afternoon, we’re on the air live, and all our lines are open. Just pick up your phones and punch in JJK-TALK. Remember, the JJ stands for Judge and Jury, and that means all of you great folks out there in our listening audience.”

There was the sound of a ringing phone, followed by, “Here’s our first caller: Martha from Billings. This is JJK-Talk Radio, Martha. Go ahead.”

“Well….” A woman’s voice crackled over the radio. “Uh—am I on the air, Gary?”

“You sure are, Martha. Go ahead.”

“Well, I just want to say, those vicious wolves are the Adolf Hitler of the animal kingdom. I’m scared to let my kids stand on the corner to wait for the school bus anymore. Like Mr. Campbell said, what if a wolf or a whole pack of those killer wolves came running out of Yellowstone? No one is safe.”

“All right, thanks for calling in, Martha. Let’s get another opinion. This next caller is Larry from Pocatello. Larry’s with a group that is picketing at Yellowstone right now to protest the wolves. That’s pro-test, folks, not pro-tect! Go ahead, Larry. Tell us what you think.”

In a deep, deliberate voice, the new caller declared, “When this country was founded, it was the people who decided what was done and what wasn’t. Now everything’s run by the government. A bunch of Washington suits sat down with some tree huggers and dictated that killer wolves should come back into our national park.”

“So what’s your point, Larry? Can you sum it up?” the announcer asked.

“The point is—the government’s cramming this wolf thing down the regular citizens’ throats. People, we don’t have to take it! We got to unite and rid Yellowstone Park of those bloodthirsty wolves before it’s too late!”

More phones rang in the background as the announcer asked, “Just how do you suggest we do that, Larry?”

“If I could, I’d say, ‘Men, take up your rifles and go into Yellowstone and—’”

“I can’t stand it!” Olivia cried, snapping off the radio. “How can people talk so crazy and get so worked up over this kind of hysterical propaganda?”

In the backseat, Troy glanced from Olivia to Steven and back again. For once, he seemed interested in what was going on.

“Just wait till we get to the site of the so-called wolf attack, Steven,” Olivia vowed. “I’m going to reconstruct what happened with that dog. I have a feeling there’s more to it than George Campbell is telling.”

“You’ll find out the truth, Mom,” Ashley said confidently.

Steven shrugged. “The guy’s dog is dead, Olivia. That much of it is true. Even the park officials admit the wolves killed the dog.”

“Well, I still want to hear what Mike has to say,” Olivia answered. “If I can ever get through to him.”

Since Ashley was kneeling in the tailgate, she had a good view of the highway. “Watch out, Dad,” she yelled. “Cars are stopping up ahead.”

As they slowed down and drove closer, they could see the cause of the traffic pileup: three big, shaggy, bearded bison were standing in the middle of the road. Cars from both directions had stopped in long lines; doors were flung open as people jumped out, cameras in hand, to take pictures of the massive beasts.

“Don’t the visitors read the warnings?” Olivia asked, exasperated. She rolled down the window on her side of the jeep and leaned out—head, shoulders, and torso. “Stay away from those bison!” she yelled to the people on the road. “They can charge you and gore you. Please! You’re putting yourselves in danger.”

A few people turned to stare at Olivia, but most of them just kept taking pictures.

“Listen to me! Those bison look big and slow, but they can move fast. Thirty miles an hour!”

“Give it up, Mom,” Jack said, embarrassed that his mother was sticking out of the jeep window like a jack-in-the-box, waving her arms and shouting that way, especially since no one seemed to be taking her seriously. Only the big bull buffalo raised his head to stare at Olivia with his beady eyes. Slowly, he shook his massive head, as if agreeing with Olivia that tourists could be unbelievably, dangerously reckless. Rippling the dust off his dark hide, he turned and trotted down an embankment into the field below. His pair of buffalo cows followed him.