Lobo, King of Currumpaw

Wild Animals I Have Known

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Literary adaptation · The old gray leader

Across the open cattle country of New Mexico, a great gray wolf led his small pack through the canyons. People called him Lobo. Hunters had tried to catch him for years. Still he ranged free, with a smaller, almost white wolf named Blanca among his companions.

The trail in the dust

Then another hunter came. He hid traps along the wolves’ trails, but the tracks in the dust told a different story each morning. Lobo had uncovered the danger and gone around it. Once, he backed away so carefully that each paw returned to its own footprint.

Blanca’s last call

The hunter changed his plan. Blanca sometimes ran ahead of the pack, and this time she stepped into a trap. She called across the canyon. From the distant mesa, Lobo answered. The hunters killed her. Afterward, his voice continued to travel over the open country, searching for a reply.

Following her trail

Lobo followed Blanca’s trail toward the ranch. The hunter used her scent to lead him past more hidden traps. This time, the wolf that had escaped so often was caught. When the hunter reached him, Lobo raised his voice once more. No answering howl came from the scattered pack.

The country beyond the gate

They took Lobo alive to the ranch. Food and water were set beside him, but he left them untouched. He lay facing the gateway, his yellow eyes turned toward the plains. The hunter, who had worked so hard to defeat him, watched the great wolf grow quiet as evening fell.

Together again

At dawn, Lobo was dead. The hunter carried him to the shed where Blanca lay and placed him beside her. The chase was finished. Yet the wolf who had once seemed only an enemy had become something harder to dismiss: a creature whose life, and loss, the hunter could finally see.

Lobo, King of Currumpaw
By Adapted from Ernest Thompson Seton (1898)
Across the open cattle country of New Mexico, a great gray wolf led his small pack through the canyons. People called him Lobo. Hunters had tried to catch him for years. Still he ranged free, with a smaller, almost white wolf named Blanca among his companions.
Then another hunter came. He hid traps along the wolves’ trails, but the tracks in the dust told a different story each morning. Lobo had uncovered the danger and gone around it. Once, he backed away so carefully that each paw returned to its own footprint.
The hunter changed his plan. Blanca sometimes ran ahead of the pack, and this time she stepped into a trap. She called across the canyon. From the distant mesa, Lobo answered. The hunters killed her. Afterward, his voice continued to travel over the open country, searching for a reply.
Lobo followed Blanca’s trail toward the ranch. The hunter used her scent to lead him past more hidden traps. This time, the wolf that had escaped so often was caught. When the hunter reached him, Lobo raised his voice once more. No answering howl came from the scattered pack.
They took Lobo alive to the ranch. Food and water were set beside him, but he left them untouched. He lay facing the gateway, his yellow eyes turned toward the plains. The hunter, who had worked so hard to defeat him, watched the great wolf grow quiet as evening fell.
At dawn, Lobo was dead. The hunter carried him to the shed where Blanca lay and placed him beside her. The chase was finished. Yet the wolf who had once seemed only an enemy had become something harder to dismiss: a creature whose life, and loss, the hunter could finally see.

Lobo, King of Currumpaw

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