“At the cross-country training run today, he finished third…He wanted to get in some extra training.”

“And you let him go?”

“I tried to stop him,” Noble said, angry that Argus had put him in this situation.

“He did,” said Tora.

“That’s right,” echoed Harlan.

“But he was determined to go, and he convinced himself that it would be okay with you,” said Noble.

The ranger said nothing.

“What was I supposed to do?” Noble asked. “Fight him?”

The question hung in the air like smoke. The ranger finally shook his head and said, “No, I guess not.”

Phyllis grabbed a jar of peanut butter and put it away in a cupboard. “How long ago did he leave?”

Noble glanced at the kitchen clock. “It’s been a while. He should be home anytime now.”

“All right,” said the ranger, lifting a bag off the floor. “We’ll deal with this when he gets back.”

They all emptied the shopping bags and put things away in the refrigerator, cupboards, and pantry as well as in the cold room downstairs.

Suddenly the sound of a gunshot echoed off the mountain.

Everyone stopped and listened.

And then, in the silence, the ranger whispered, “Argus!”

* * *

A half hour later, it was dark. The ranger had been on the phone for most of that time, trying to track down Sergeant Martin. He’d sent the rest of the pack down the drive to check the roadway, but they’d come back reporting that Argus was nowhere to be seen. Phyllis had used their cell phone to call the hospital, but no one—especially anyone named Argus Brock—had been brought in with a gunshot wound.

Ranger Brock dialed the RCMP number again and, this time, a constable picked up the phone.

“RCMP Redstone, Constable Neavis speaking,” the man said.

“This is Garrett Brock. I’m a forest ranger here in—”

“I know who you are, Mr. Brock,” the constable said.

“I want to speak to Sergeant Martin. Do you know where he is?”

“He’s out on a call right now. Ernie Ilson shot at a wolf, creeping behind his place.”

The ranger felt the blood drain from his face. His knees were weak. He searched behind him for a chair to sit down on. “Do you know if he hit the wolf?”

“Said he did, but he can’t find the animal. The sergeant’s out there right now, helping him look for it.”

Ranger Brock took a deep breath. At least the wolf was still alive, somewhere out in the forest. An image of Argus, shot and bleeding, perhaps even dying from traces of silver poisoning in his body, clouded his mind, terrifying him to his core.

“Ranger Brock? Are you still there?”

The sound of the constable’s voice startled the ranger. “Yes, yes I am.”

“Do you still want to reach the sergeant?”

The ranger could barely manage the word. “Yes.”

“I’ll have him call you.”