Parker Winterbloom's Arc

Chapter 3 of 5

Three days after Randy took the hare, Parker found another animal in the wire. A young fox lay in the snow, one paw torn where the snare had bitten deep. It did not thrash. It watched him with dull eyes. Parker knelt and spoke in the fox's language, soft and low. "I know you. You kept me warm in the storm." The fox's ear twitched. Parker cut the wire fast and gathered the fox into his coat. The paw bled through the cloth. The fox was too weak to run and too hurt to hunt. It would die out here alone. Parker turned toward home and walked fast. The homestead glowed ahead, windows warm against the white dusk. Parker pushed through the door. Heat from the great fireplace hit his face. "Mom!" he called. "It's hurt bad." Margaret came from the greenhouse, hands still dark with soil. She saw the blood and set aside her trowel. "Table," she said. She spread a clean cloth. Parker laid the fox down. Margaret lifted the torn paw and studied it. She did not flinch. "Deep. Not to the bone." She pressed cloth to the wound. "Boil water. Bring the jar of green salve." Parker obeyed. Margaret cleaned the paw, packed it with salve, and wrapped it tight. The fox lay still under her steady hands. "It'll keep the paw," she said. "If the wound stays clean." She looked at Parker. "That's your job now." Daniel came in from the cold, stamping snow off his boots. He saw the fox and raised an eyebrow. "Another guest. At this rate we'll need a bigger table." He crossed the room and crouched by the fox. His grin faded when he saw the wound. "Same wire?" "Same wire," Parker said. "There's more of them out there." Daniel nodded slow. He picked up the cut snare Parker had dropped and turned it in his fingers. "Then you need to learn something. Freeing them one at a time won't stop the man setting these." He held the wire to the firelight. "Look here. See the twist? Every trapper ties his own knot. Same hands, same twist, every time." Parker leaned close. The wire ends crossed in a tight double loop. "Find that same knot on the next snare," Daniel said, "and the one after, and you can track the man who ties it. A snare is a signature." He set the wire in Parker's palm. "You want to be a ranger? A ranger doesn't just save the animal. He catches who hurt it." The fox lifted its head and looked at Parker. Parker closed his hand around the wire. The fox would live. But now he held a clue, and a colder truth. Somewhere in the park, one person kept tying the same knot. Parker would learn to read it.