3 Among the Wolves Read Online Free

gymnasium, a dedicated running program, and hundreds of miles of challenging mountain hikes. And now, every breath of mountain-scented air made the weight of my pack feel even lighter.

    Our journey began with Bill taking Charlie’s sturdy but lightweight nylon hiking leash and leading the way. After several stops to make sure I was following close behind, Charlie let us know that he wanted me to take his leash, at least for now. Although he was also bonded to Bill, many times when we hiked in unfamiliar territory Charlie would signal that he wanted me to take his leash, until he was sure of where we were and what was expected of him. “Charlie’s telling me he needs his mother,” Bill would laugh on such occasions.
    With Charlie in the lead we trekked over a five-hundred-foot pass, then followed a shallow stream into the shadows. Misshapen spruce, ancient dwarf willow, and barely visible cotton grass covered the snow-dappled valley floor. As the late-afternoon sun dropped beyond the mountains, the way ahead led through tall willow thickets, sparse taiga forest, and melting snow. It took little to persuade us to make camp in the shadows of the trees and tackle the tangled brush the next morning.
    Birds chirping from the nearby forest canopy awoke us just as dawn’s soft light arrived. Charlie stretched and yawned. He had slept well—not surprising considering that he had taken up a large portion of my bed for most of the night. Around midnight, I had felt his generous frame overflow across my bag, giving me only half the length I needed. Too groggy to argue, I had turned over, shifting into the shape of a pretzel to accommodate him. But I made a mental note that things would have to change.
    Now, though, a refreshed Charlie was ready for breakfast. I slowly unwound my body and adjusted the kink in my back. “Charlie, you have to stay on your own pad from now on,” I said irritably. “My back is killing me.”
    Bill, still snuggled deep in his bag, laughed. “You might as well save your breath. He’s not going to move, and you’re never going to make him move.”
    â€œWell, you tell him to move.”
    â€œNever,” came the muffled reply. Charlie had won again.

    It was my turn to get breakfast for the team. With my hand on the tent zipper, ready to make as graceful an exit as my aching back would allow, I suddenly froze as a rustling sound came from the direction of the spruce trees. Charlie growled. Moments later, a nearby metallic crash shattered the peace of the early-morning forest. Charlie’s warning grew louder as he snarled, straining at the end of his sturdy leash, trying to get through the door to what we guessed was a bear rummaging through our camp. The animal was attacking our cooking gear with gusto. By the sounds of the racket, he was dramatically shortening the useful life of our pots and pans.
    Bill, who had sat up in bed at Charlie’s first warning, now had his shotgun in hand. Cautiously he unzipped the main tent door while I opened the back. I looked out and immediately retreated in horror. I was inches from the brown, furry side of a large, angry grizzly.
    Without seeing me, he bounded around to the front of the tent. With the barrel barely clearing the doorway, Bill fired a shot into the air. The earsplitting boom at first had no effect, but after another deafening warning blast, the bear loped a few yards into the taiga forest. Then he turned to face us, defiantly rising high on his rear legs to get a better view. After a short pause, he dropped to all fours and lumbered away.
    With Charlie at our side, we clambered out of the tent and stood listening for the possible return of our uninvited guest. Every sound was magnified in the heavy silence. Charlie never took his eyes away from the direction in which the bear had headed. Staring into the dim forest light, we could imagine the bear watching us. But as the first warming rays of