Читать книгу White Feather 3-Book Bundle - Jennifer Dance - Страница 26

The Indian agent had lost a lot of time by diverting into town and riling up the farmers with his story of child-eating wolves. Crooked Ear was, of course, the primary target of his revenge, but by the time the effect of the poison bait rippled through the environment, the wolf was long gone. The Indian agent didn’t waste any emotion on other wild animals that he knew would feed on the bait: bears, foxes, raccoons, martens, and wolverines. These animals were disposable as far as he was concerned, so he spared no thought for them or their abandoned offspring. Had he realized that birds such as ravens, vultures, crows, jays, and owls would also die when they fed on poisoned carcasses, he would not have cared much either. As long as the woodlands continued to harbour game animals such as deer, elk, and rabbits he was happy. He had no knowledge that rain and melting snow would carry poison into the streams, rivers, ponds, and lakes, contaminating the fish and waterbirds he enjoyed on his dinner plate from time to time.

The Indian agent was focused on one thing alone: catching 366. He cantered, hoping to catch up before the trail went cold. He sensed a shift in the wind and looked up. Clouds scudded from the north. It was not a good sign and he knew it would be wise to turn around and head home. If he got caught in an early snowstorm, the footing would be difficult and the going slow. It would be sensible to let the Mounties pick up the boy from the reserve when the weather improved.

He reined in the gelding and called to the dog, but the animal was snuffling through the dirt and vegetation fifty yards ahead, and ignored his master’s command. The dog had picked up a fresh scent! Excitement coursed through the Indian agent and a sadistic grin lit his face. “So, Horse Thief, you’re close by, eh?”

His joints were stiff with cold, and when he dismounted his feet hit the ground like two bricks, sending a jolt right through him, but he was elated. He kicked at the remains of the boy’s fire to see if there were any glowing embers. A look of satisfaction spread over his face; he wasn’t far behind. He cast around for any sign of wolves, fear tugging at his gut, although with his rifle slung over his shoulder, he felt braver. The only paw prints he saw were from his dog. The animal had trampled the area in his excitement, inhaling the feral smells that encircled the boy’s bed.

A few minutes earlier the agent had been ready to turn for home, but sensing that he was within striking range, he wanted to press on. However, the light was fading. It would soon be dark. He decided to make camp and catch the boy in the morning.