Wolf Shadows (Fesler-Lampert Minnesota Heritage) by Casanova Mary

Author:Casanova, Mary [Casanova, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: University of Minnesota Press
Published: 2013-07-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

‘I’ll keep the food warm,” Mrs. Schultz called as they headed outside.

“There isn’t quite enough snow for snowmobiling,” Mr. Schultz said as Brett and Stubby trailed behind him. “Let’s take the four-wheelers.”

Snow puffed around their boots. Seth followed behind, glancing up at a sky void of stars. Flakes continued to fall, lightly, slowly.

“When we find him,” Mr. Schultz continued, “he can ride behind in the trailer.”

They rolled the two four-wheelers from the barn, and Mr. Schultz became strangely silent.

“Remember my first deer,” Brett said, “how I didn’t want to leave it, so I waited until you showed up?”

Mr. Schultz nodded, looking ridiculous in his orange bomber hat, flaps tied down over his ears.

“Matt’s probably out there now—a little cold, no doubt—but he’s fine,” Brett said casually.

Was Brett really that confident that Matt was okay? Or was he acting, trying to make things seem less serious somehow? Seth couldn’t ease the knot that was tightening in his stomach. If something had happened, it would be his fault.

Blue clouds of exhaust rolled like storm clouds behind the machines. Mr. Schultz motioned for Seth to get on first. “You know where to go, Seth.” Then he hopped on behind.

Stubby drove the other four-wheeler. Brett sat behind him and waved Seth on to lead the search party.

Seth gave the four-wheeler gas, lurched forward, and headed down the Schultzes’ driveway, across the road, and toward the trail leading behind his house. If it were light out, he’d ride Quest bareback. Mr. Schultz probably thought he was a real klutz driver, jolting suddenly forward, then throttling back.

Yellow eyes caught in the headlights, then disappeared. Too short for a wolf—must have been a fox. Maybe Matt was thinking about wolves now. And if he were lost, he’d be fighting down big-time panic. Seth had never really been lost, not for more than fifteen or twenty minutes anyway, like the time when he went canoeing with his dad and mom. After they’d set up camp, he hopped in the canoe to explore. Before long, he’d circled one small island, then another, and realized he had no idea which way to head back to camp. The sky was gray, the sun absent, leaving no clue of north, west, east, or south. Panic had started at his toes and lit like a gasoline-fed bonfire. He only lived with the feeling for a few minutes before he heard his parents call his name. Hearing his name had never felt so good before. When he returned, he realized they were just calling him in for dinner. He never let them know he’d been lost. After that, he always carried a compass.

Compass! Matt didn’t even have a compass, Seth realized as a cold, sick feeling enveloped him. At the last minute, Matt hadn’t been able to find his own. “I’ve got mine,” Seth had said, “so it’s okay. We’re hunting together.”

Guilt jabbed him. He could kick himself! He shouldn’t have left Matt, even if Matt had shot a wolf.

The four-wheeler’s headlight illuminated a round boulder, topped with a layer of new snow.

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