Читать книгу Wild Trek - Jim Kjelgaard - Страница 4

Chiri, the Snow Dog, had been hunting all night. An hour before dawn he found the trail of a snowshoe rabbit, and spent half an hour running the rabbit down. He ate, and rested until the sun came up. Then he started back to Link Stevens' cabin on the Gander.

After a long and hard winter of near-starvation, spring had burst like a green bubble over the north country. Creeks spilled out of their banks, rivers roared toward their meeting with the arctic sea. The willow thickets sported a new cloak of fuzzy green buds and green grass showed in every clearing. The whiskeyjacks, who loved this north land so much that they shivered through its winter snows rather than leave for more temperate climates, shrieked their boundless joy because spring had come again.

Chiri slunk from the tangle of spruces where he had caught the rabbit, and paused at the edge of a meadow. An ordinary dog would have run heedlessly across the meadow, but Chiri was no ordinary dog. He had been born under a windfall near the wild Carney Meadows, and when he was only four months old had seen his mother and two brothers killed by a savage black wolf. Chiri alone had escaped, and for a year of his life had lived as a wolf does. Finally he had been caught by the trapper, Link Stevens, to whom he had gradually given his whole-hearted allegiance. Later, when Link had been waylaid by the black wolf's pack, Chiri had battled and killed the wolf, and returned to the Gander with Link and Lud, the only other dog in Link's pack to survive the wolves' attack.

The big dog, a blend of staghound and Husky, did not run heedlessly into the meadow because his instincts and impulses were still those of a wolf. He had fought alone for survival in a land where only the strongest lived, and he had won his fight. Now he could forget nothing that harsh experience had taught him. Chiri remained in the spruces, and turned to slink through them to a place where the wind brushed his nose more advantageously. He was not afraid, for he had never feared anything; he wished merely to know what lay ahead before he ventured any farther.

The wind brought him the scent of a feeding deer, and Chiri studied the odor thoroughly. Last fall, for some obscure reason, the Gander had become almost a wildlife desert. All the game had left, and getting anything at all to eat had been a desperate-enough battle. Now, with spring, the game was returning. However, since he had just fed, Chiri was not hungry enough to be interested in any deer.

A muted, far-off gabbling drifted out of the sky and Chiri turned his head toward the sound. The northbound geese that were winging toward distant nesting places were mere dots in the sky. Chiri turned away from the sound, not interested in geese, either. But he did feel the fierce joy, and the great awakening, that spring brought to the whole thawing land.

He broke into a trot, because now he missed Link and wanted to be back with him. For a way he followed a little stream which normally pursued a placid way through the spruces. Fed by melting snows, at this season the stream was bank-full and rippled by strong currents. Chiri walked onto a bit of land that jutted into the water, gathered himself, and sprang effortlessly to the other side. He trotted through the forest, snuffling here and there at rabbit or deer traces.

Chiri came to the Gander, which was now white water foaming between cut banks, and unhesitatingly plunged in. He swam to the north bank of the river, shook himself, and resumed his distance-devouring trot. Link Stevens' home cabin, a twelve by sixteen foot log structure, was only a little way away. Chiri knew even before he came to the cabin that Link had not yet returned. The big dog's ears drooped slightly and his tail sagged.

He broke over the last little rise and saw the cabin. It was built on a knoll in a clearing, far enough from the river so that even the fiercest flood waters never approached its doors. Near it was a storage shed and to one side, far enough apart so their chained occupants could not fight, were five dog houses. During the past winter each of those houses had had a tenant, but three of them had been killed by the black wolf's pack. Now only Lud emerged from a kennel and wagged a happy tail as Chiri approached.

Chiri went forward to sniff noses. Lud, a philosophical creature who would accept anything except loneliness, whined eagerly. Very early that morning, after tossing Lud a venison knuckle, Link had left the cabin to hunt. Lud had gnawed every shred of anything edible from the knuckle, but as Chiri came nearer he covered it with his body. It was a natural move for the gentlest trail dog will instinctively defend his food.

Chiri, however, paid no attention to it. He sniffed noses with Lud and trotted hopefully to the cabin. His ears drooped a bit more and his tail sagged lower; the only scents of Link were stale ones. Chiri wandered disconsolately back to Lud, who had been watching him worriedly. Having company at last, Lud was reluctant to lose it.

For a few minutes the dogs lay side by side, Lud entirely contented but Chiri increasingly anxious. He was not worried about Link, but he missed him. A wilderness rover in his own right, Chiri knew only, that after being away from his master, he always had a great yearning for his companionship and a hunger for his friendly caresses.

Chiri rose suddenly and ran back to the cabin door. Lud strained to the end of his chain, wagging a pleading tail and whining as he begged his companion to return. Chiri glanced at Lud, then sought Link's trail.

The scent was easily discernible to Chiri's half-wild nose. The big dog followed it around a corner of the cabin and up the slope. He heard Lud's protests at being again deserted, but Chiri did not look back. It was not for him to question why Lud must always be tied while he himself was always allowed to run free.

He could not know that, though he was a big and hardy dog, Lud still had only an orthodox dog's rearing. Packs of dog-hating timber wolves roamed the Gander, and Lud would stand no chance whatever should such a pack corner him. Chiri was well able to take care of himself, but above and beyond that there was Link's understanding of his wild training. Link had always dreamed of the ideal trail dog, a companion that would travel with him wherever he went and carry his own weight. He had found that dog in Chiri, but at the same time he had recognized the big dog's independent spirit and ability to fend for himself. Link never chained Chiri because he knew that no steel chain could ever bind such a dog to any man. Chiri would have to give himself, and the bonds of love that held him to Link were far more powerful than any shackles ever fashioned in a forge.

His nose still to the ground, Chiri followed Link's trail up the sloping ridge behind the cabin and into the spruces. He ran fast now, certain of himself and of the scent he pursued. Chiri stopped suddenly. A cross wind, playing low among the trees, brought him Link's fresh scent. Chiri stood still a moment, testing the wind and verifying the news it had brought him. Link was there, returning almost by the same route he had taken to hunt, and he had made a kill. Chiri increased his pace to a staghound's distance-eating run.

Three hundred yards away he came upon Link, a rifle in his right hand and a buck across his shoulders. Chiri spread his jaws in a canine grin, and his long body rippled as he galloped gracefully up to his master. Link grinned down at him.

"Hi. Hi, old dog. Bet you just came home 'cause you got hungry. Well, we can eat right hearty now. But Lud's been tied up since early morning, and you know how he hates to be alone. Let's move."

Side by side they came to the cabin, and the lonesome Lud emerged from his kennel to whine a happy greeting. Link hung the buck in a tree, skinned it, and cut it up. He sliced two steaks from a haunch and thoughtfully regarded what remained. A trapper always gambled with fate. Sometimes he made a rich haul, and other years he didn't earn enough money to pay expenses. This had been such a year. Never had he worked harder, but there were scarcely enough furs in his cache to pay for the supplies he'd need next season. Still, with Chiri's help, he'd stuck it out. The wilderness had not whipped him and he was glad. Next year would bring another trapping season.

Link gave a fresh steak to Lud and one to Chiri. Then he re-entered the cabin, took a seasoned haunch of venison from his cold cellar, sliced a steak for himself, and built a fire. He heated a skillet and laid the steak in it. Making a wry face, he sat down to eat. Months had elapsed since he had had anything except meat. He would, he decided, trade all the venison or moose steaks north of the Gander for a can of tomatoes or a single cup of flour.

Outside, Chiri and Lud suddenly started an uproar. Link pushed his plate back, leaped to his feet, and snatched at his rifle. There had been no human visitors on the Gander since last summer and it was unlikely that any were coming now. A moose, deer, or bear must be prowling around the cabin. Even though the game was coming back, hunting was none too good; it was best not to miss any chances. Link swung the door open and stared in amazement at the three horses fording the Gander.

Two carried packs; water lapped at the bottoms of the tarpaulins that covered them. The third horse bore a rider who sagged wanly forward, clutching at the saddle horn with his right hand. His left arm, bound with sapling branches, hung straight and stiff at his side. With mounting surprise Link recognized Constable John Murdock, from Masland. The dripping horses climbed out of the river and stood with their ears cocked forward, looking curiously at Link.

"Hi, John. What's the trouble?" Link called.

"Broken arm. I was coming into Two Bird Cabin when a grizzly spooked my horse. He pitched me off."

"Let me help you."

"I'll manage."

But despite that stout assertion, John Murdock half fell from his horse into Link Stevens' arms. Link passed the officer's right arm about his neck, and supported the other's shoulders as he helped him to a chair in the cabin. Two Bird Cabin was a long day's ride from the Gander. It was almost incredible that a man should be able to set his own broken arm, however crudely, pack horses, saddle another, and still ride on to the Gander. But John Murdock had done it.

"We'll have you fixed up in a jiffy," Link said cheerfully. He split long splints from a block of wood and shaved them down with his knife. "When'd you get into Two Bird?"

"Night before last. Laid over one day."

"Sissy!" Link jibed. "Stay off the trail just because you've got a broken arm!"

John Murdock grinned feebly. "Yeah. How'd you do on the trap-lines this winter, Link?"

"I didn't make my beans and I've been eating nothing except meat for the past hundred years. I'll be glad to take you into Masland and see some civilization for a change."

"I reckon it would go good."

"It'll go fine." Link cut off the crude splints on John Murdock's arm and used the point of his knife to split the jacket and shirt sleeve. The constable's arm was discolored and swollen, but it seemed like a clean break. Link said quietly, "This is going to hurt, John."

"Yeah. I reckon."

Great beads of sweat stood out on the constable's forehead as Link straightened the arm. Murdock bit his lower lip; a gasp of pain escaped him. Link worked as swiftly as he could. Probing with his fingers, he felt the two ends of the broken bone grate together. He continued to pull and turn. Then, mercifully, John Murdock fainted. Link worked faster. The ends of the broken bone slipped into place and he bound them there. Then he splinted the arm. The constable groaned faintly and opened his eyes.

"Go ahead," he whispered.

"It's all done."

"Oh. Thanks, Link."

Supporting Murdock's shoulders, Link helped him over to the bunk, pulled off his boots, and covered him with blankets. The constable moaned and tossed for a moment, then fell into an exhausted sleep. Link stole quietly out to care for the horses.

He removed the saddle and bridle, and picketed the saddle horse with a long rope. Then he took the packs from the pack horses, hobbled them, and carried the packs into the cabin. Link unbound them, and drooled as he came upon a small parcel of dried peaches which the constable carried along. He slipped one into his mouth. Ordinarily he would have considered it a tasteless thing, dry and hard, but now it seemed the most delicious confection he had ever eaten.

John Murdock began to twist and mutter in his sleep. Link stole over to the bunk to quiet him, and as he did so he caught snatches of the injured man's disjointed conversation. "Yes, sir. The Caribou Range. I can get there. Yes, I understand."

Link laid a cool, wet cloth on Murdock's hot forehead. Remaining quietly beside the bunk, he watched his patient. The constable continued to twist and mutter. Then, shortly after midnight, his fever subsided and he slept quietly. Link crawled into the other bunk.

When he awakened, the early morning sun was shining through the cabin window. Link rose, slipped quietly over, and looked down at John Murdock. The constable was peacefully and comfortably asleep. Link stole quietly out of the cabin, to be greeted by Chiri.

He let his hand stray down to the big dog's ears, while Chiri pressed against him and wagged his tail. There was a rattling of Lud's chains as Lud came from his kennel and stretched. Link looked thoughtfully at the cabin door.

Since coming into Two Bird Cabin, John Murdock must have been through agony. To break an arm was bad enough. To be helpless and alone with a broken arm must be ten times as bad. Yet, in his feverish sleep, Murdock had still spoken of going to the Caribou Mountains—an unknown and forsaken range to the north. What was in the Caribous that must be investigated?

Link loosed Lud, and the dog galloped off, overcome with joy to be free of his chain after a long period of confinement. Chiri trotted with him. Link watched the two dogs, and tried to shrug his curiosity away. He was a trapper, and if he attended to all his own affairs which needed attention, he would have no time for anything else. Whatever lay in the Caribous wasn't his worry.

Link reached up to take a coiled fishing line from a nail beneath the snow shelter that overhung the cabin's door. Ordinarily, when he left the Gander, he did so before the spring breakup. This year, because he had taken such a poor catch of fur, he had stayed behind for the spring muskrat trapping. Now he awaited only a run-off of some of the flooded streams before going to Masland with such furs as he had. Meanwhile he must feed himself and his two dogs as best he could.

Chiri and Lud followed as he went down to the river and cut a stiff willow pole with his clasp knife. Link tied his fish line to it, kicked a rotten log apart, found some white grubs, baited, and cast. The hook sailed into the swift water and drifted downstream. Link retrieved and cast again, and again. On his fourth cast the line straightened and began to move directly across the river.

Link struck hard. The willow pole bent and the line tightened. Without undue ceremony, because he was fishing for food and not for sport, Link hauled a four-pound bull trout into the bank and scooped it up. He put the fish in a safe place, re-baited, and cast again. Ten minutes later he had a smaller trout.

Link untied the fishing line, coiled it, hung it over his shoulder, and picked up a trout in each hand. Returning to the cabin, he chained Lud and split the smaller trout. He gave half to Lud and half to Chiri. With two strokes of the axe he removed the head and tail from the larger fish, and divided those between the dogs. Slicing deep along the backbone, Link separated the fillets and carried them into the cabin.

John Murdock was still asleep, and Link moved softly as he poured water into a tin basin. He added salt, dropped the two boneless halves of the trout into it, and went down to the river for another pail of water. Carefully, rattling no lids and making no unnecessary noise, he built a fire and put a lump of bear grease into his big skillet. Measuring out four spoons of Murdock's coffee, he poured four cups of water on top of it and put the coffee pot on a hot lid. Link drooled as the spicy odor came up to tickle his nostrils. He had run out of coffee weeks ago.

John Murdock stirred in the bunk, then sat up to rub startled eyes.

"Hey! Why didn't you wake me?"

"What for? You couldn't have gone anywhere."

The injured man swung his legs over the side of the bunk. Link dropped the two halves of trout into the skillet and sprinkled them with salt. The constable wrinkled his nose.

"What's that? It smells good."

"Bull trout."

"Fresh?"

"It was swimming twenty minutes ago."

"Oh boy!" John Murdock moved suddenly, winced, looked down at his splinted arm, and grinned. He rose, and on stocking feet padded over to the table. His nose wrinkled appreciatively.

"Haven't had any since last summer."

"You real fond of it, John?"

"I could eat trout three times a day."

Link said dryly, "I'll swap you my share for enough flour to make a mess of flapjacks."

"Good Lord! Take the flour anyway, man! If you look hard enough you'll even see a can of syrup."

"Syrup! The real honest-to-John article?" Link turned the two halves of trout in their sputtering grease and mixed a flapjack batter. He put the trout on a plate.

"Come and get it!"

As Murdock hungrily attacked the fish, Link spilled flapjacks onto a hot griddle, turned them, and slid them on a plate. Then he sat down, pouring a generous amount of syrup from the small tin Murdock had brought along. Almost ecstatically he began to eat. When his plate was empty, he pushed it aside, sighing contentedly.

"What do you know about the Caribou Mountains?" Murdock asked.

"I know they're a good place to stay out of. Hi Macklin's brother started for them three years ago, along with Tom Dosee. That's the last anybody ever heard or saw of them."

"Well, that's where I'm going."

"You're crazy!"

John Murdock shook his head. "Link, I have to go. Did you ever hear of Trigg Antray?"

Link wrinkled his forehead. "The name seems familiar."

"Probably it is. Antray's the naturalist-lecturer. It seems he got an idea there's albino moose in the Caribous, so he hired a bush pilot, man named Tom Garridge, to fly him in so he could find out. The plane conked out over the Caribous, but they got down safely. We know that because there was a radio message. Somebody's got to go to help 'em out, and I'm elected."

"You can't make it. That's a two-fisted country, and you've got only one."

Murdock shrugged. "This arm will knit as well on the trail as it will anywhere else if I take it easy. The way the rivers are, it'll take a long while to get back to Masland and send another man in my place. By that time Antray and Garridge may be dead."

"You'll be dead if you go. Haven't they sent any search planes in?"

"Half a dozen. They couldn't see a thing."

"Be reasonable, man! You can't get even near the Caribous with that broken arm! I've been forty or so miles northwest of the Gander, and that's tough country!"

"I still aim to try."

Link sat back, tilting his chair and looking hard at John Murdock. Obviously the man meant what he said. He had been ordered to go into the Caribous to find two men who'd crashed there, and he meant to go even though he must know that he would probably sacrifice his own life if he did.

"You don't have to go," Link said quietly.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm going."

"You!"

"That's right. If anybody can get through and find your men, Chiri and I can do it."

"But—"

"Let's call it settled," Link said. "You've got two choices. Either I take you back to Masland, or you let Chiri and me go on while you stay here and rest up. As soon as you're able, ride back to Masland and tell 'em what happened. I'd like to have you bring a load of grub here, though. When I come back I'll need it."

"I can't do that!"

"You're going to do it. Somebody has to search the Caribous. Right? You can't do it and I can. That's all there is to it."

"Do you know the country?"

"As well as anyone does; there are no reliable maps. I don't see how I can miss the Caribous. They seem to stick far enough into the sky."

"Take my horses, then," Murdock said, weakening.

"No thanks. I'll travel light and fast with Chiri."

"Link, I'll never forget this! I'll make it up to you somehow! I'll—!"

"Aw, shut up or I'll break your other arm!"

Link rose and took his rifle from its peg. Chiri sprang to his feet expectantly. The big dog loved to hunt with Link, even though he had not yet achieved an understanding of the fine partnership that can exist between a man and his hunting dog. Having always hunted for himself, Chiri could see no reason why he should do otherwise, or why everything else was not capable of getting its own game. The idea of trailing game for Link had never occurred to him.

"There's most of a deer in the cellar," Link told Murdock, "but I'd better be sure you have plenty of grub. You may be here a while."

"I have supplies. You can help yourself to 'em."

"If you twisted my arm, I might steal that parcel of dried peaches."

"You'll steal more than that. I appreciate this, Link. I know I wouldn't have one chance in fifty of getting through, but somebody has to go. I—"

"You carry on like a gabby old squirrel," Link said. "I've always wanted a good excuse to go into the Caribous. So kindly keep your big trap shut."

Once outside he was deadly serious. The Caribous were a forbidden range, an unknown stretch of peaks lying deep within one of the last great virgin wildernesses. As far as he knew no man had ever entered them—and come out again. His plans had to be made carefully.

Chiri ranged into the spruces to do some hunting of his own. Link stayed on the trail, solemnity tempered by an elation which he could not suppress. What would he find in the Caribous? At any rate, he had committed himself to going, and now there was no turning back. Link grinned wryly, knowing that he didn't want to turn back.

At a motion in the spruces, Link halted. He saw a young deer, sleek and trim in its spring coat, racing toward him. Thirty paces behind it, gaining fast on the small buck, came Chiri.

Link raised his rifle, sighted, and awaited the right moment. When the running deer entered a thinner growth of spruces he shot, and the little buck dropped in its tracks. Chiri came up, wagging his tail and panting slightly as he looked at the kill. He could have brought it down, but they had game, and he knew Link would share it with him. Link dressed the small deer and gave Chiri a generous slice of the liver. Then he shouldered the deer, carried it back to camp, and hung it in a tree. Lud came out of his kennel, sitting expectantly by and knowing that he, too, would feed soon. Murdock appeared at the cabin door.

"I'll carry some along but leave most for you," Link said. "You may need it."

"Doubt if I can handle a rifle," the constable said ruefully.

"No need to now, and you can always use your belt gun if you have to shoot. Anyhow, there's lots of fishing tackle here; you'll be able to catch trout in a few days."

Link skinned and quartered the deer. Laying the quarters on the fresh skin, he cut the large bones out of them. He threw one to Lud, who fell upon it and started chewing happily. Chiri, already fed, disdained any more. Link arranged the boneless quarters in a neat pile. The only means of transportation he had was his own back and Chiri's. Every ounce counted, and it would be wasting energy to carry bones. Link left a piece of the meat where Chiri could find it, as he did not want the big dog to go hunting tonight, and hung the rest in the dug-out cellar beneath his cabin. In this country the ground never thawed beneath topsoil depth. It was easy to make a natural and permanent refrigerator merely by digging.

He climbed back into the cabin and began arranging the articles he would need. The Caribous were strictly an unknown quantity; he had no way of knowing how long it would take to reach and climb into them, or what he might need. Link laid out needles and thread, a few first-aid articles, knives, his sleeping bag, a skillet and pot, and his rifle. He laid an axe and a hundred feet of rope beside the articles he had arranged, then looked dubiously at his rifle. The day the black wolf's pack had attacked him, he had broken the rifle's firing pin and later replaced it with a laboriously filed nail. Nails, however, were soft metal. There was no telling when this one would wear out, and there weren't any stores in the Caribous.

"Something wrong with your rifle, Link?" Murdock asked.

"Broken firing pin."

"Take mine. I have a hundred and twenty cartridges for it. You can have the revolver, too, if you need it."

"Thanks, John. The rifle will be enough."

Link added fishing line and hooks to his collection. He wrapped one of the boneless hind-quarters of venison in a discarded flour sack and stood back to inspect the load. Chiri could pack about forty-five pounds, while Link himself could take a little more. As though reading his thoughts, John Murdock spoke.

"Fill it up, Link. That's the very least you can do."

"Fill what up?"

"Your grub list. There's plenty here."

"You might need that yourself."

"Don't be foolish. I left Masland equipped for the Caribous. There'll be plenty for me if all I'm going to do is hang around here a while and go back to Masland."

"Well . . ."

"Pack it, or I'll do it myself!"

Link poured flour into three canvas containers, and took a portion of coffee, sugar, tea, rice, dried beans, dried peas, and baking powder. Murdock pressed the parcel of dried peaches and the can of syrup upon him, then looked at the pile of supplies thoughtfully.

"You still haven't got very much. You could pack another forty pounds if you used both your dogs."

Link shook his head. "Chiri can rustle his own grub if necessary. Lud can't. I'll leave him here to keep you company."

The sun had not yet risen the next morning when Link called Chiri to the cabin door. He strapped the dog's pack on, then shouldered his own. Link turned to the constable.

"So long, John. Be seeing you!"