There were a few other people out on the road. Ranger Brock and Sergeant Martin were there, as well as John G. Smith, the reporter from the Redstone Gazette, the town’s local weekly newspaper. A tall, thin man with curly hair, a bald spot, and a full beard, Smith was accompanied by a young woman with a tape recorder who was introducing herself to different people in order to interview them for some radio station or broadcast network.

She approached Sergeant Martin for a comment, but he declined, stepping back from her with his hands in the air like she was holding a gun to him instead of a microphone. She nodded, then moved on to Ranger Brock. He seemed uncomfortable at first, having had a bad experience with media types in the past—and one Doctor Edward Monk, in particular. But he warmed up to her, and in minutes they were talking freely. Noble wanted to get closer to listen to what the ranger was saying, but he risked being spotted and that was too much of a chance to take. Besides, he could easily ask the ranger about the interview later that night.

But then the ranger and the reporter stopped talking. In fact, everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look south.

Walking up the road with slow, measured steps, was Willie Greene. He was wearing several feathers in his hair, and an odd assortment of clothing that was full of bright colors and jagged patterns, as if he’d survived an explosion in a paint factory. As Willie neared, Noble motioned to the pack that he was going to move in closer. Argus nodded in acknowledgment and the others made themselves comfortable behind the stand of trees.

Noble crept forward, careful not to allow himself to be seen. There was a good chance one or more of the loggers had shotguns in their trucks, and they wouldn’t hesitate to use them against a wolf—especially one that wasn’t afraid to get so close to humans.

By the time Willie reached the protesters, they’d all stopped their chanting and put down their signs. Everyone’s attention, seemed to be focused on the odd man in the colorful costume. Noble took the opportunity to move even closer.

“Willie?” said Donna Hughson. “Have you come to help us?”

Willie didn’t answer. Instead he walked right on past the protest toward the logging company camp and didn’t stop until he was standing in front of the biggest tractor. “Who is in charge?” he asked. Noble had seen some of Willie’s work on television before, but he’d never heard him speak with such a powerful and dramatic voice.

“Who wants to know?” countered one of the workers, but only after he’d blown a long plume of cigarette smoke in Willie’s face.

“I do,” said Willie.

“And you are?”