Chinook: King of the North

By P. J. Wesley

When twelve-year-old Will Oleson befriends a white wolf in the wilds of Montana in 1910, he unwittingly becomes an enemy of unscrupulous trappers who will stop at nothing to possess the wolf's valuable pelt. Determined and desperate, Will devises a plan to protect Chinook; little knowing it may cost them their lives.

A historic event that ravaged the Northwestern United States and Canada in 1910 inspired this story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781667807379

Book preview

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Chinook: King of the North

P. J. Wesley

ISBN (Print Edition): 978-1-66780-736-2

ISBN (eBook Edition): 978-1-66780-737-9

Cover Photo Credits: Rebecca Dupre, Kathy Nielsen, and P.J. Wesley

© 2021. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this book first to the LORD for inspiring me with His creative genius in the beautiful scenery surrounding me. Next, to my parents, whose love and support throughout my life gave me the courage and fortitude to write this story. Thanks Mom and Dad for your unconditional love and encouragement. To my brother Terry, I miss your unbridled enthusiasm for life, gentleness, kindness, sense of humor and adventure. To my Aunt Ester, her stories about life on the prairie at the turn of the century have always fascinated me. Last, but not least, I especially thank my husband for his patience and support during this project.

Acknowledgements

Thank you, Rebecca Dupre, my friend. Your kind editing skills encouraged me onward. Jennifer Blanchard, thank you for helping me get my storyline in shape for the world to see. Doug Griffith DVM, your knowledge of animals helped tremendously. A special thanks to Neal Chapman, retired training officer in the Miami Beach Fire Department, for his expertise and knowledge of firefighting. Thank you Kathy, Rebecca, and Marsha for being my Guinea pigs. I also want to thank the US Forest Service for permission to use the archived photos in the back of the book.

Special Note:

This story, about the relationship between a wild wolf and a boy, is a work of fiction. Wolves are wild animals, rarely tame enough to approach in the wild. If encountered, please use extreme caution.

If all the beasts were gone,

Men would die from a great loneliness of spirit,

For whatever happens to the

Beasts also happens to man.

All things are connected.

Whatever befalls the earth,

Befalls the sons of the earth.

— Chief Seattle, Suquamish Tribe,

letter to President Franklin Pierce

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Author’s Note

References

Chapter 1

Twelve-year-old Will Oleson kneeled on the ground. His brows furrowed as he looked up into his Pa’s brown, weathered face. Jack Oleson let out a deep sigh, sat back on his heels, tipped his broad-brimmed hat back, and shook his head in disgust. His piercing blue eyes squinted against the sun’s glare at Will’s silhouette. He turned and looked once more at the foul scene before him.

Will observed his father’s uncharacteristically grim face and could sense trouble brewing. When Pa looked up again, his mouth stretched into a thin straight line, pale and cracked from the Montana wind.

Whose is it, Pa? Will asked as he tipped his hat back, imitating his father. A lock of shaggy golden hair fell into his eyes.

Jedediah Morgan’s, that’s who. He spat a stream of tobacco juice into a lingering patch of snow.

Will’s heart plummeted to his stomach.

What’s he doing trapping on our property?

That’s what I wanna know.

Pa stood, ripped the rusty trap from the ground, and held the hideous spectacle before him. The partial hide and skeleton of a long-dead lynx jangled and danced in the breeze like a crazed marionette. With a disgusted snort, he stomped to his horse and tied the trap, with its victim, to the saddle horn. Mike, Pa’s roan-colored stallion, whinnied, jerked his head back, and skidded sideways. His eyes rolled with fright as he tried to escape the smell of death. Pa mounted him with the ease and grace born of experience and quickly had him under control, and then followed an obscure path. Will trailed close behind on Molly, his buckskin mare.

They crossed a small stream, still cold from snowmelt, into a forest of dark pines, spruce, and tamarack. Tree branches slapped against them, sliding along their wool jackets. It was silent as they rode, except for the far-off knock-knock-knocking of a woodpecker or the occasional squirrel barking disapproval as they passed. The relative quiet made Will nervous; Pa’s quietness unnerved him even more.

Here’s another one, Pa said and pointed at the skeleton of another trapped animal. He slipped off his horse and motioned Will to follow. Will obeyed and peered over Pa’s shoulder as he examined the rusted metal trap.

How do you know it’s Jed, Pa?

He lives on the other side of our property. He pointed north. I’ve had my suspicions, but had no proof… until now. He slipped up this time; left his mark on the back. See this? Pa pointed to the backside of the trap.

Will, eager to please his pa, kneeled next to him, strained his eyes, and then saw the faint JM etched crudely into the steel trap.

Oh, I see it now. Will nodded.

Pa leaned back on his heels and peered at Will. He’s a lazy, unethical trapper who doesn’t check his traps, leaving the animals to suffer. But worst of all, he uses poison.

Poison? Will’s brows knitted together.

Yeah, strychnine. A painful way to die and any animal eating another animal trapped that way will suffer and die, too. It’s a lazy man’s way. He’s what we call a Wolfer, Pa said and spat again.

Will’s eyes shot to his pa. Wolfer?

A man who hunts mainly wolves, usually with poison. They kill the pups too, in the cruelest ways. There’ve been no wolves here for years, though. Killed off long ago. Pa’s voice trailed.

Well, shouldn’t we tell the sheriff? Will said, interrupting his thoughts.

Sheriff? Naw, this is our property. I’ll handle it myself. Pa pulled the trap from the ground. I’ve had enough of his shenanigans.

Pa hoisted the offending trap and hooked it on his saddle horn with the other one, making his horse sidestep again. Sweat beaded on Will’s forehead, despite the frigid air, as he followed his pa through the forest. During the next hour, they discovered eight more traps, most without victims. With each one they retrieved, Pa became more silent, and that worried Will.

Pa halted, held up his hand, and motioned Will to join him.

There’s Jed’s house; through those trees. He pointed. Stay back here in case something happens. Pa unstrapped his gun. If it does, get out quick. Go home, tell Ma, and get the sheriff.

Will gulped and looked wide-eyed at his pa, and then stared at the old, dilapidated log home nestled among the trees. With reluctance, he nodded to his father.

The traps jangled on the horse’s neck as Pa nudged it forward. Will stayed on his mare and watched. His heart hammered as a line of sweat beaded along his forehead and began a slow slide down his paling face.

Pa rode between copses of aspens, into a clearing, and paused in front of the old log home. Will saw Pa glance up and followed his gaze to a thin stream of smoke that curled from the chimney. Someone was home.

Will’s eyes narrowed as they moved across the shingled roof, noting two fist-sized holes and a crumbling chimney. His eyes slid lower to the shutters hanging askew on leather hinges, then to the junk piles and litter-strewn yard. What a dump.

Jedediah Morgan! Pa hollered as he dumped the traps to the ground with a loud clang. I’ve got somethin’ of yorn!

Silence.

Will saw a curtain move. His neck hairs rose, and he leaned forward in his saddle. Pa, the window!

The wooden door cracked open, and the long, black barrel of a shotgun appeared.

Will froze and sucked in his breath.

What you want, Jack?

Just returning what’s yorn.

What are you doin’ with my traps? Jed burst through the door, slamming it back with a bang. You ain’t got no business messin’ with em. He raised the shotgun.

Will gripped his horse’s reins and turned pale as a ghost. His heart skipped a beat.

Pa held up his hands. Put the gun down. Let’s talk, man to man. Or aren’t you man enough without a gun? Pa held Jed’s gaze.

Bah! Jed lowered his shotgun. I’ll show ya who’s man enough. He slammed his gun next to the doorframe and stomped off the sagging front porch with his son, Samuel, on his heels.

Will’s eyes met Samuel’s glare and scathing look. His mouth went dry, and he clutched the reins tighter. Crap!

Pa dismounted, stood by his horse, and waited. Jed puffed his chest and strutted to a stop within inches of Pa’s face. Pa stared into the bottomless pool of Jed’s ebony eyes and almost choked at the odor of alcohol and the foulness of his breath.

Jed’s crazed eyes peered from beneath his shaggy, black, shoulder-length hair, greasy and unkempt. His beard and mustache, flecked with bits of food, stank of uncleanliness. A jagged scar on his cheek blazed like a lightning bolt against his tanned, leathery face. Samuel skulked in the background, a smaller image of his father. What are ya doin’ with those? Jed jabbed his grimy finger at the traps.

What I want to know is, what are you doing trapping on my property? Pa snarled back.

Flustered at Jack’s boldness, Jed flinched. I’ll trap when and where I want. Tain’t you or nobody else stoppin’ me, he yelled and flung his hands in the air.

Take this as a friendly warning. Stop trapping on my property, or next time I’ll file a complaint with the sheriff! Pa ground out, looking him in the eye.

Horse turds! Yer the one trespassin,’ fiddlin’ with my traps and settin’ em off. Now git off my property! His face and neck burned red, making the lightning-bolt