Sergei bent down again. "You understand what will happen?" he asked the boy.

The boy swallowed. "No got home," he whispered. "Men burn."

"Where's your mother? Your father?"

"No got."

Sergei eyed him, considering. What was he to do with this waif he'd impulsively rescued. He could think of only one solution. "Will you come home with me?" he asked finally.

The boy's slanted dark eyes looked fearfully into Sergei's for a long moment. "I come," he said at last. "Good. My name's Sergei Volek- what's yours?"

"Loi Fui Chung."

"Okay, Chung, into the crate you go. Get set for a bumpy ride--it can't be helped."

As the clerk assisted him in nailing the boy into the crate, Sergei wondered what Liisi would say when he arrived home accompanied by a stranger--one he'd invited to live at Volek House.

Early in June, in the late afternoon, Wolf sat morosely on top of a granite boulder staring not at the breath-taking mountain valley below but at the few crumbs that remained of the food he'd brought with him from the Miwok village.

Though he'd been invited to stay with Morning Quail and her people in their foothills village, he found himself uncomfortable among them. The men were generally friendly, especially after he proved quick to master their tongue. Even Bear Claw, their shaman, seemed to accept him but Wolf rested uneasily at night, waiting for an attack that never came.

He'd tried to tell himself the Miwoks were not the same as the Kamchadals who'd caged him like an animal. This tribe was poor and not warlike, everyone was kept busy hunting for food in order to survive. But he didn't convincehimself. After six months he could no longer endure waiting for the axe to fall.Though he and Morning Quail had become friends, he wasn't surprised when shedecided to remain with her people.

He'd climbed, heading farther into the mountains, away from any vestige of civilization. Now here he was, hungry and tired, without any idea of where he'd find his next meal. Or see another person. Hunger he'd expected but not loneliness.

The thought that he might be the only human for hundreds of miles around daunted him rather than giving him the sense of exhilaration he'd expected to experience. He'd never felt so alone since he was a naked and filthy nine-yearold penned like an animal in Kamchatka.

After Grandfather rescued him, he'd become part of a family. He missed every one of them but especially Sergei.

A growl of thunder startled him and he glanced up to see dark clouds obscuring the sun. He'd been warned by Morning Quail that storms in the mountains were dangerous.

"The thunder spirit grows angry with any man who challenges him," she'd said in Miwok. "Thunder shoots his arrows of flame at that man. Death arrows."

Wolf stood up, searching for shelter. He settled on a small stand of pines with odd looking trunks of coarse brown bark. He'd seen lightning hit tall trees, so he kept away from the center of the grove where the tallest pines grew. The rain began before he reached the trees, spattering him with cool drops. By the time he was under the fragrant branches of the coarse-barked pines, the wind was whipping through the boughs, singing a storm song. Lightning illuminated the dark sky, thunder cracked all around him. Rain drove through the boughs, soaking him.

Wolf, more stimulated than frightened by the storm, ran between the trees. He shouted each time the thunder rumbled to show his disbelief in thunder spirits.

As the storm's fury began to ebb, Wolf suddenly felt the hair raise on his nape. Something watched him. Animal? He knew cougars roamed the mountains and that they lay on low branches in wait for prey. He quickly slid over against a thick trunk and scanned the branches above him.

Movement! He grabbed the hilt of his holstered Colt, aware he had only two bullets left.

"You're not thinking to shoot me, are you, laddie?" a man's voice asked from overhead.

Wolf gaped at the bewhiskered face staring down at him. The man slid from the branch, dropping to the ground beside Wolf.

"John Muir," he said, holding out his hand.

"Wolf Volek." He grasped the hand and had his shaken heartily.

"Nothing I like better than a man who knows how to enjoy a storm," Muir told him.

Tall and lean, Muir wore rough clothes, carried a small knapsack and packed no gun. His keen blue eyes peered through a tangle--his hair, long and untrimmed, was as ragged and wild as his beard. The creases in the tanned skin around his eyes told Wolf he was middle-aged.

"Magnificent!" Muir cried, turning his face up to the rain. "Think what those who huddle in houses are missing." He looked again at Wolf. "When I woke this morning something told me I'd meet a friend today. The Scots are known for their second sight; I'm not sure I believe I have it but I do get hunches. And I've learned to act on them."

Wolf had never met anyone quite like this wild man of the mountains. With growing interest, he listened to Muir speak of the glory of the storm and the beauty of their surroundings.

"I've never seen pines like these lower down," he volunteered when at last Muir fell silent.

"The Jeffreys? A noble sight they are, indeed. The bark smells like vanilla, I've always thought." He glanced up. "The storm's passing us by, time to move on." He glanced at Wolf. "If you're on your own, shall we team up?" The notion appealed to Wolf and he nodded.

The sun came out as they left the Jeffrey pine grove and Muir pointed to the southwest where a rainbow spread its brilliant colors across the sky. "Good luck, us meeting--that's what the rainbow says."

As they hiked through the rugged country, Muir told Wolf the names of the trees and plants. He talked back to the Douglas squirrels who chattered at them, halted Wolf with a hand on his arm while two mule deer sprang from cover ahead of them, and left crumbs for a tiny chipmunk that darted across their path.

"A man's never alone in the mountains," Muir said. "If he keeps his eyes and ears open he finds many friends. I look forward to tonight when friend coyote will serenade us with his lullaby."

"The Miwoks believe Coyote is the god who created them," Wolf said. "And when he breathed life into them he cried out in joy."

Muir smiled. "In joy, yes. As he still does today. Indians are closer to nature than we. They understand we're but a link in the chain of life on earth. I wish I could infuse that knowledge into a few of those Washington politicians I try to deal with."

"Sir?" Wolf didn't quite understand.

Muir shook his head. "Not sir, laddie. Call me Johnnie, for we're friends. Today's too fine to be blighted by speaking of politicians. Sometime I'll explain to you what it is I aim to do but not now, not while we breathe this wonderful mountain air, not as we're about to come upon one of the most spectacular sights in nature."

An hour or so later they stood in a pine forest on the outer rim of a vast valley. Wolf drew in his breath as he gazed across at the opposite mountain wall cut up into multiple flying turrets soaring into the darkening blue of the evening sky. He'd never seen anything so breathtaking in his life.

In the next three days, Muir showed him not only the magnificence of the Sierras but how men were mistreating them by logging off the great trees and herding sheep to feed on the slopes and valleys, denuding them. Wolf learned of Muir's attempts to get Congress to set apart certain areas in California for "a great national park or reservation."

"The Sierras belong to us all," Muir insisted. "Not for our selfish use but for us to preserve in their natural grandeur. We are a part of these mountains; we must not misuse them."

The more he was in Muir's company, the more Wolf admired him. Muir said what Wolf had long felt deep in his heart but didn't know how to express. He and the wilderness were one. "It's time to go back to civilization," Muir said at last. "You're another like me, laddie. I've enjoyed your company but I must bend to the yoke once more. I can use your help--will you join me? Someday we'll go to Washington to battle the politicians but for now I need a helping hand on my ranch."

By then Wolf was so reluctant to be separated from Muir that he would have followed him anywhere. "A ranchhand's job suits me," he told Muir. "I'll come with you."

Ten-year-old Samara Volek ran down the schoolhouse steps after her twin brother.

"Stefan, wait!" she cried, hearing Druse echo her words behind her.

"Sammi, wait!"

But she couldn't wait for Druse, she had to catch up to Stefan before he got out of sight. Why did Mr. Mathewson always have to be so cross with Stefan? Her brother didn't like to study but that didn't give their teacher the right to pick on him all the time.

What did it matter if Stefan forgot Grover Cleveland's name? Mr. Cleveland might be the President of the United States but couldn't Mr. Mathewson see that Stefan didn't care who was President or what his name was?

Stefan hated the way Druse always trailed them, he'd be madder than he was already if she brought Druse along. Anyway, Druse had Tanya to walk with.

Leaving the log cabin schoolhouse behind, Samara ran as fast as her skirts would let her toward the big oaks, following her brother, knowing he was heading for their secret place. How she disliked having to wear a bustle! Boys were lucky.

By the time she reached the wall near the oaks, Stefan was nowhere in sight. Samara gathered up her skirts, dropped to her knees and crawled behind the tangle of shrubs growing against the wall. Four months ago Chung had killed a fox raiding the chicken coop. The boys--Arno, Ivan and Stefan--had been sent with Chung to see if they could find a hole dug under the wall. But they hadn't and so Grandfather finally decided the fox must have squeezed through the narrow opening between the iron bars in one of the gates.

Workmen had come that same week and welded criss-cross bars to the gates.

About a week later she'd accidentally found the hole when she'd crawled behind the bushes after Stefan had tossed Hortense Louise, her favorite doll, into them. Stefan was always getting mad and doing something hurtful. If he wasn't her twin brother she'd never have forgiven him for being so mean to poor Hortense. But she had. She'd even told him about the hole she found instead of going directly to Grandfather.

Twigs caught in Samara's long braided hair as she eased her way along the wall to the hole. She never had told Grandfather because Stefan asked her not to. She hadn't liked agreeing but after Stefan had blocked the inside of the hole with a rock, pointing out no animal could get in so the chickens would be safe, she promised she wouldn't tell.

The rock was lying to the side of the hole now so she knew Stefan was outside the wall. Where they weren't supposed to go. They were confined to the grounds at all times unless Grandmother or Grandfather was with them.

Much as she disliked getting dirty, she inched headfirst into the hole and wriggled through. Heaven only knew what trouble Stefan might get into if she wasn't with him.

When she caught up with her brother on the other side of the wall, he was racing around in circles shouting, "Free! Free! Free!" It took her almost an hour to persuade him to return.

"Someday I'm going to kill Mr. Thinks-he-knows-it-all," Stefan told her as they walked toward the hole. "Kill him, tear him in pieces and feed him to the coyotes."

"Aw, Mr. Mathewson's not that bad."

"I mean to do it. You wait and see."

Samara swallowed, fearing he really did mean it. Once in a while at night she'd wake as from a bad dream sensing something dark and dangerous inside Stefan. Something that scared her. She'd never told anyone.

At the hole, Stefan went first, as he always did. Halfway through behind him, she froze. Was that Grandfather's voice?

Since she had no choice, Samara wriggled through to the inside of the wall. Her grandfather's frowning face was the first thing she saw when she emerged.

The bushes were gone, cut to the ground. Grandfather stood staring down at her, Stefan's arm gripped in his right hand. Chung, Ivan, Arno and Druse hovered behind him. Grandfather's left hand fastened on her wrist. "You boys get that hole filled in," he ordered.

He marched them both toward the house, Druse running along beside Samara.

"I'm sorry I told," Druse whispered to her. "I found your hair-ribbon caught on that bush and I took it to Grandfather. I didn't know about the hole."

So Druse must have followed her, after all. Stefan wouldn't be happy about that.

Grandfather ushered the two of them into his study, closing the door on Druse. Making them stand in front of him, he leaned against the fireplace mantel and fixed them with a stern gaze.

"I hadn't planned to tell you two just yet but I see I should have." He paused and took a deep breath. "Stefan, Samara, do you have any idea of what it means to be a Volek?" Samara shook her head.

Stefan scowled at him. "If you're not grown up it means you have to stay locked inside a wall."

Samara expected Grandfather to be angry. Instead, he looked sad as he asked, "Do you know why, Stefan?"

"No, but it's not fair."

"Maybe not, but there's a very good reason," Grandfather said. "The Voleks are not like other families. We have a dark and deadly secret and because of this secret we have enemies--stalkers--who hunt us."

"What secret?" Stefan demanded.

"When Volek identical twin sons turn from boys into men, one of them inherits a terrible fate. Under a full moon he shapeshifts. He changes and becomes a beast. He rends and kills and, except for his twin, no one is safe from the beast."

Samara stared at her grandfather, speechless with horror. Stalkers and beasts! She glanced at Stefan. He didn't seem a bit frightened.

After a moment Stefan said. "Ivan and Arno are identical. I'll bet it's Ivan. No, wait, Arno gets mad quicker."

Grandfather shook his head. "We won't know which twin will be the shifter until it happens."

"But it'll be one of them?"

"I'm afraid so."

Stefan's scowl grew darker. "It's not fair," he said. "Sammi's a girl."

"She is, indeed, " Grandfather said. "So you two are not identical male twins."

"Damn it to hell!" Stefan cried, startling Samara. No one ever swore in front of Grandfather!

Stefan glared at her. "Why'd you have to be a girl?" he demanded. "That means I won't ever get to turn into a beast."

Chapter 6.

Usually Samara liked the classes in the schoolroom but today her stomach had begun to hurt after lunch. She'd told Tanya, who'd smirked at her.

"I know what's happening--don't you?" Tanya had said slyly.

Sometimes she positively hated Tanya. Just because Tanya had turned fourteen while Samara and Stefan wouldn't be thirteen for another four months didn't mean Tanya could lord it over her.

Samara crossed her arms over her stomach and tried to will her discomfort away before Mr. Mathewson finished quizzing Arno and Ivan about how Congressmen were elected and began asking questions of Tanya and Stefan and her. She wasn't successful.

Luckily, though, the teacher was reviewing what they'd already learned. Stomach cramps or not, she was able to tell him the date California became a state--1850, the thirty-first state to be admitted to the union.

Tanya was asked the next question.

"Wyoming was admitted to the union just this month," Tanya said. "It's the forty-fourth state."

"Stefan," Mr. Mathewson said, "if I can have your attention, please."

Stefan was staring out the window, as usual. He turned and looked sullenly at the teacher.

"Stefan, who is the current president of the United States?" Mr. Mathewson asked.

"President Cleveland," Stefan said triumphantly.