Mature members of a wolf pack often venture off by themselves or in pairs to hunt when game was plentiful sometimes remaining gone from a day to several days. The male wolf Alan determined was the next in line of dominance after the two Alpha wolves he had named Ranger. That wolf now roamed on the outside edge of the pack’s territory. He was marking the boundary and patrolling. Ranger had been feeding on small mammals and the days were lazily drifting by for him as he spent most of time relaxing and sleeping. It was now approaching evening and he just woke. Stretching and yawning he prepared himself to move on, working his way back from the very edge of the pack’s territory to the den sight.
Ranger sensed the other pack a split second before they were upon him. There was no hesitation from the alpha male of the intruding pack. He went straight for the throat of Ranger. Ranger was quick and even being caught off guard he managed to move fast enough to avoid being pinned by the attacking alpha but the other wolf’s teeth still managed to grab and rip open a wound.
The hostile pack of five animals surrounded him, he was hopelessly outnumbered, he tried to break through the circle and run for it. Each time he started the attackers would close ranks and turn him back. They darted in and out nipping and biting at him. He fought back valiantly but never had a chance. One of the attackers finally got a good grip on his left hindquarter. He turned to try and release himself and went down. The others were on him. Fighting for his life, Ranger somehow managed to break free and run for it. The others did not chase after him. Their purpose was accomplished. They began marking the spot for their own territory.
Ranger ran for as long as he could but he was bleeding from several deep cuts and finally had to slow down and stop. He searched for a thick stand of bushes to crawl into, one that would hide him while he rested and took stock of his injuries. Finding what he was looking for he laid down panting heavily so weak that he could not even start to lick his own wounds. Fifteen minutes later he was dead.
During the ensuing week Hunter would start to miss Ranger and on one of his own patrols he would discover the scene of the attack. He quickly sensed out what had happened. He marked over the intruder’s scent, reclaiming the territory. Then he tracked Ranger’s trail and discovered the decomposing body hidden back in the thick underbrush. Hunter recognized the finality of death immediately and realizing that Ranger was no longer part of the pack. He threw his head back and started to howl, long mournful howls, howls that penetrated deep into the wilderness around him announcing the loss.
Chapter Eight
Painting in the large studio room at the back of his home Robert worked on the foreground palm leaves of his newest painting. The subject was an Everglades landscape, the part of Florida two and a half hours drive south of where Robert lived in St. Petersburg. He had already finished the background, a sweeping view of the tall grasses that stretched to the horizon. Closer to the foreground he had painted a hammock.
The tropical hammocks are islands of trees and other vegetation that dot the sea of grass. Hammocks get their shape from the water flow of the Everglades. Large hammocks can be a half a mile wide and several miles long. Most are much smaller and shaped like long ellipses as they run north-south in orientation.
The Everglades, is actually a large river 50 miles wide and 150 miles long stretching from Lake Okeechobee and the Kissimmee River valley south to Florida Bay at the tip of Florida. It is a shallow, very slow moving river averaging only a few inches deep across its width.
With the background of the painting done he was now concentrating on the foreground. When finished this area was going to contain two White Egrets taking flight over the sawgrass in front of a stand of palmetto palms. On the right side of the painting an old weathered stump stood overlapped by a few of the palm fronds. Robert was working on the palm leaves at the moment trying to capture the illusion of light striking them to show how the intense sunlight of tropical Florida glistens off the shiny texture of the leaves. There were several dozen palm fronds sketched out to paint. Each blade of each frond he painted meticulously. The palm fronds over lapped and intertwined with each other casting shadows. It was slow work and he long ago accustomed himself to it and cultivated the patience not to rush. He knew from experience that if he wanted to get it right it would take some time.
The phone rang. He quickly worked to get to a stopping point and caught it on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey”, a familiar voice said back.
“Hey”, Robert said back instantly.
“Whatcha doing?”
“Working.”
“Yeah right. Like you work.”
“I work. I gotta finish this piece and I’m behind on it. It’s taking me longer that I thought.”
“Yeah right. Lets go fishing.”
“Can’t. Working.” Robert cradled the cordless phone between his shoulder and head and began painting again while he talked.
“It’s too hot anyway.”, he added.
“It’s always hot, big deal. Come on, let’s go wet a line.”
“I told you John, I’m working. I can’t go I need to finish this piece this week.”
“You’re always working, you’re always behind, and you always have to finish a painting. Come on let’s go. The tide’s right. Its 3:30 now, I’ll be there in an hour. By the time we get there it’ll be perfect, we’ll fish it till sundown.”, John told him.
Its not that Robert didn’t want to go, it had been weeks since he’d gone fishing. He knew it was true about the tide being right for their favorite spot. He checked the tides in the paper most mornings. But he’d gotten behind on his schedule for the painting. He was his own boss and he could take off when he wanted to. That was the problem, taking off was easy, too easy. He needed to exercise some discipline and stay on schedule. Even if it was fishing with the tide right he couldn’t just cut loose.
“What are you doing knocking off this early?” Robert asked him. “I thought you were going to drywall that house today.”
“Ah shit, the damn sub’s jerking me around. God, I wish Henry never
would have left, this new guy is so unreliable. I’m ready to board this place up and he’s still got wire all over hell to run. This is the last job for him, I gotta find somebody else.”
“You want me to do it?”
“Yeah right, that’s what I want is you out here wiring up this house. That’s all I need. I want you to get your ass and your gear ready and I’ll be there in an hour and don’t give me any crap about it either.”
“Can’t. Working,” Robert told him again and then listened to John harass him for a few more minutes swearing to show up in an hour and drag Robert forcibly out of the studio ready or not.
After he clicked the phone off and set it down he stood to stretch and look at the painting. He had been at it for hours. If he took the rest of the day off it would push back the completion date another day. That would be cutting it too close. It was a commission piece he was working on for a couple over on the other coast in Palm Beach Gardens. He was supposed to deliver it in another four days. He planned to work on it until 9 or 10 tonight. Nothing unusual about that he worked late several nights a week. It was another reason he liked having studio space in his home, it kept him close to the refrigerator and the bed. It would be great to cut loose and go fishing with John but he better not. He’d go when he got back from delivering this painting, then he could relax a little. He sat back down and picked up his brush. <
br />Each painting Robert created seemed to have its own individual rhythm to it. Feeling this rhythm Robert could pretty well judge how long it was going to take to finish a painting. On this piece he was almost done, two more full days of painting, then one day to frame it, then the trip across the state to deliver and install it. No fish time allotted
