Читать книгу Wild Trek - Jim Kjelgaard - Страница 8

Link let the match burn almost down to his fingers, and in the half-light that filtered into the cave he continued for a moment to stare at the dimly seen skull. Some other traveller had found his way this far into the Caribous. Probably, like Link, he had been caught in the heights by a sudden storm and had taken refuge in the cave. He had never got out of it.

Outside the wind screamed harder, and snow whirled down so thickly that the mouth of the cave was almost hidden. The light inside equalled that of late evening, just before night closes completely down. In the darkness, Link groped with Chiri's pack, unfastened it, and cast his own down. He could not make a safe way in the blinding storm, and regardless of the fate of the other wayfarer, he would stay.

Chiri paced to the mouth of the cave and lay down, while blowing snow powdered his face and fore-quarters. Link spread his sleeping bag and, feeling his way, he cut a generous slice of mutton for himself and one for Chiri. The big dog came to get his food, but carried it back to the mouth of the cave before he ate. It was from that direction that possible danger would come, and Chiri wanted to be ready for it.

Link walked to the mouth of the cave, crowded in beside Chiri, and tried to look out. The wind still screamed across the heights, and snow fell fast. Link began to think about the other man who had sought shelter in the cave. Maybe he had become snowbound there, and unable to get out of the heights. It was quite possible. He himself would have to wait out the storm and see what conditions were like after it was over.

He walked back to his pack and rummaged in it until his fingers closed about one of the three candles he had brought along. He lit it, shielding the flame with his hand. When the wick had a good light he held it aloft. The flame bent inward, toward the back of the cave, but it did not blow out. Link gasped.

The back of the cave was literally carpeted with the bones of animals—and the unmistakable remains of a man! Shreds of clothing were mixed with the bones. The paw prints of a great cat were very much in evidence in the soft earth on the cave's floor. This was not a casual cave, but a cougar's den!

Link looked back at Chiri, still guarding the entrance, then knelt beside the human skeleton. This man was no storm-pressed wayfarer who had sought temporary shelter in the cave. He had been killed outside and dragged in here. The polished bones had been cracked by powerful jaws. Link picked up a bit of cloth and held the candle very near so he could see it. It was wool, the sort of clothing hunters and trappers wore, but otherwise it told him nothing. Maybe Tom Dosee or Hi Macklin's brother had ended his journey here. Certainly the skeleton had been there far too long to be that of either of the men he was searching for.

Gently Link laid the bit of cloth back, and held the candle high enough so he could look at the rest of the litter in the cave. Doubtless, like Link, the stranger had stumbled onto one of the few places, possibly the only one, where the Caribous could be crossed. This crossing was also used by herds of sheep and goats that wanted to get from one slope to the other. The cougar had only to lie in wait until something he wanted came along. Link looked once more at all that remained of the other wayfarer.

There were cougars back on the Gander, but they were timid, self-effacing creatures which never showed themselves to man if they could possibly avoid it. No man ever saw one unless it was trapped or treed by dogs. But this cougar, high on the Caribous' rocky slopes, made no distinction between man and beast. In fact, in this country no beast, even normally timid ones, seemed to be afraid of man. Link pondered the significance of that.

For all practical purposes, then, these strictly wild animals still lived a Stone Age existence. From the beginning of time their basic law, the law of survival, had not changed. The Caribous were actually so little known and so little visited that, when he came there, man was just another Stone Age creature, too. It seemed incredible. If true, it meant that when Link got down the other side of the mountain—always supposing that he did get there—he would be able to hold his own only if he was and remained stronger than whatever he met. There would be no fear of man to help him.

Link glanced at Chiri, still alert in the mouth of the cave, and felt reassured. Thanks to his early wilderness life, the dog was virtually a Stone Age beast himself, and probably more capable than Link of coping with whatever natural dangers they might find here. As far as Chiri was concerned, this world was no different from the one in which he had always lived. Chiri understood thoroughly the fact that the cougar might come back, he knew it was hostile, and he wished to be ready should it come. Link relaxed slightly. A man could go anywhere with Chiri, and his chances of getting there and coming back were about twice what they were without the big dog.

Link crawled into his sleeping bag, laid the rifle where he could seize it instantly, and prepared to sleep. Danger was present here, and fear, but so was companionship.

He slept lightly, his subconscious mind attuned to everything that took place. This was a woodsman's trick he had practised before. Before he went to sleep he had inspected the cave thoroughly and everything about it was firmly fixed in his mind. He would know should any changes occur. When Chiri shifted position he sat up, and again when the screaming wind died. Both times he saw the dog still in the cave's entrance, still watching. Link went back to sleep. The next time he awakened morning had come.

The wind had died last night and with it the snow must have stopped. Link walked to the mouth of the cave and looked out. Snow was no longer falling, but in sheltered spots it had been whipped into high drifts by the wind. Other places, high crags and smooth rock where the wind had had a clean sweep, were bare. Link ate more mutton, then strapped Chiri's pack on, shouldered his own, and stepped outside.

The wind had not died, he saw; it had merely stopped last night's wild screaming. Blowing over the snow fields, it had all the sting of deep and cold winter. Link felt slightly deaf. He did not know how high the Caribous were, but only very high altitudes could have so affected his ears.

The twin spires towered above him, and as Link watched, a patch of clinging snow near the top of one loosed its hold. It plunged down the precipice, starting more snow as it rolled, until finally the mountain itself seemed to be moving. Link walked back toward the mouth of the cave as tons of snow piled up at the foot of the spire. A white spume like that blown from the foot of a falls drifted away from it.

Link sighed as the magnitude of his task made itself apparent. On any map the Caribous were a mere pinprick, but once penetrated they were a huge wilderness. From where he stood Link saw other snow-clad peaks, some even taller than the one upon which he stood. He tried to form a plan of action.

Since he knew nothing about the Caribous, he would have to let circumstances dictate the future. He would have to do one thing at a time, and obviously the first step was to get off this peak.

The pack-laden Chiri plowed a little way through the snow and stopped in a tall drift that heaped itself over his shoulders. Link started out cautiously. Some of the snow in the heights must lay there all year. It could be very dangerous. During warm spells rivers of melted snow must flow from this peak; they would form crevices. More snow might bridge those crevices, and anything that fell through would stand little chance of getting out again.

Link mounted a wind-bared rock and looked about for animal tracks. There must be some safe route out of the heights and into the sheltered valleys below, and the animals would know where it was. However, no fresh tracks broke the new snow; evidently last night's storm had kept all animals out of the mountains. With Chiri pacing beside him, Link started down the slope. He dared not stay here. There was sufficient food remaining in the packs so that they could weather a short siege in the cougar's den, but if enough snow fell it might be weeks before they got out. Escape from the heights had to be risked now. If necessary, he could camp tonight in a snowbank.

Link threw himself suddenly backward, throwing his hands over his head and clawing at the snow behind him. Agile as a cat, Chiri leaped to one side. There had seemed to be only unbroken snow ahead, but when he stepped into it the snow started to roll. Evidently he had started across a weak snow bridge over an unseen crevice. Another cloud of snow and ice particles drifted into the air. Link held perfectly still, feeling himself begin to slip. Twenty feet away, safe, Chiri whined uneasily.

Very slowly, wriggling a hair's breadth at a time, Link sought some solid thing against which he could rest his feet. He had held grimly on to the rifle. Now, an inch at a time, he elevated that so the muzzle pointed skyward. Suddenly he snapped the stock down into the snow. It held. Helping himself with the moored rifle, Link worked cautiously backward. Ten minutes after he fell, he stood once more on his feet, a safe distance from the end of the collapsed snow bridge.

Link retraced his steps cautiously. The snow was deceptive; it could cover sheer ice, mountain rocks, or nothing at all. He would have to watch his step much more carefully.

Chiri licked snow as he travelled. Watching him, Link realized how thirsty he was himself. He reached down to grab a double fistful. Packing it into a hard ball, he sucked it and let water run down his dry throat. Coming to another stretch of wind-bared rock, he stopped to look ahead. Even though there were both patches of bare rock and stretches of shallow snow between them, there were many areas of deep, soft snow. Plowing through them without snowshoes was hard, slow work.

Link unstrapped Chiri's pack and let the dog stretch. He unshouldered his own pack, and dug into it for the parcel of dried peaches which he had brought from the Gander. A sinking sensation entered the pit of his stomach as he realized how little civilized food remained. Link fed Chiri a piece of mutton and ate a dried peach. He ate another, then reluctantly replaced the parcel and rose, stamping his feet and beating his hands to warm himself. Repacking Chiri, he continued through the snow fields, grumbling to himself as he walked. He should be coming to a slope, and timber, but evidently the top of this mountain ran on forever.

With a sudden little rush, Chiri was ahead of him. The big dog's ears were up, his tail wagged as he stared at a high snowbank. Link slipped his glove off and put his thumb on the hammer of his rifle. There was no telling what he might meet here, but he had better be prepared. Then Chiri bent his head to snuffle and Link saw the hole in the snowbank.

It was big and hard-packed, and a few silver hairs clung to the frozen bottom of the hole. Grizzly tracks led away from it, down the slope. Link nodded understandingly. The grizzly, too, must have decided to sleep through the storm instead of walking it out. He had merely curled up and let the snow cover him, while heat from his own body melted the snow on which he lay. Link quickened his steps along the grizzly's trail. Since the big bear had known how to get up one side of the mountain, the chances were excellent that he also knew how to get down the other.

An hour before nightfall Link came to another cliff, a sheer rock wall that dropped three hundred feet to an above-timberline meadow. Snow lay in scattered patches on the wild upland pasture, and at the far side the green belt of forest began. But there was a ledge, as far as Link could see the only break on the cliff, and the grizzly had travelled it. Slowly, watching sharply for snow and the occasional patches of ice formed where water had seeped out of cracks in the rock, Link walked down the ledge. Chiri, as usual, walked unconcernedly beside or behind him.

An hour and a half later Link crouched over a crackling fire in the thin upper fringe of the forest. His kettle, filled with melted snow water, bubbled merrily and sent out the nose-tickling odor of hot coffee. Link fried mutton in his skillet, and ate a hot meal. Then he leaned contentedly back.

He was in the mythical Caribous at last. They were not the never-never country which story and legend had made them. They were a deep wilderness and very hard to reach, but they could be penetrated. He and Chiri had proved that.

There were furtive rustlings and shufflings both in the forest and about the meadow. A bear grunted. A deer called lonesomely. Sleepy birds twittered in the trees, and a white-footed mouse squeaked as it padded along a hidden highway. Link threw more wood on the fire and slept with his rifle in easy reach. Even in this wild country it was very unlikely that any beast would come in to a fire. However, Chiri would give him ample warning if it should happen.

Link awoke with early morning, re-kindled his fire, and cooked breakfast. He still had no definite plan and could form none until he knew more about the Caribous. He pursed thoughtful lips. It was necessary only to stand on top of the mountain he had crossed to know that the Caribous were a vast country. Hunting for any particular thing within them was a stupendous task. Supposing that Trigg Antray and Thomas Garridge actually had landed a plane in the mountains, it might be anywhere. However, had it landed in one of the upland meadows, it would have been seen by a search plane. Of course it might have crashed against a peak, started an avalanche, and been buried beneath tons of snow. In that event nobody would ever find it, or its passengers.

His mind made up, Link stamped his cooking fire into the earth and started out. He would first search the belts of forest and the sheltered valleys. A plane crashing in either place might be hidden from the air, though undoubtedly it would mow down enough trees and shrubs to be perfectly evident to anyone who came near it on foot.

Chiri suddenly growled. Link whirled, raising his rifle as he did so and snapping the hammer back with his thumb. Just ahead was a windfall, and a gray wolf was leaping over it to charge straight at him. Another followed, snarling savagely. Link shot twice. The running wolves dropped in their tracks, kicked for a moment, and lay still. Link lowered his rifle, amazed.

He had been completely astonished when, the year before, the black wolf's pack had attacked him. According to the most authoritative reports, North American wolves had never been known to prey on human beings. But the black wolf's pack had been desperately hungry; they had some excuse for acting as they did. How about these?

They must have been mates, with a den under the windfall. Had he approached them on the Gander, they would have remained quiet or slunk away. Wolves would defend their den against almost anything except man, but these wolves had seen so few men that he was just another interloper who must be repelled. Link searched until he found the five squirming pups in the den under the windfall, and did the only thing he could. It was better than letting helpless pups die of slow starvation.

An hour later, Link came to a spring that bubbled up in the spruces, and got down on hands and knees to drink. His eyes were arrested by a depression in the soft earth on the other side of the spring. Link rose to examine it.

It was in soft, dry earth, and the edges had fallen in. But it was not a hoof mark. A prowling grizzly must have left his mark here. Or had he? Link looked away from the track, and again at it. The track was several days old, and crumbled. Its outline was hard to make out, but it seemed oddly elongated for the paw mark of a bear.

Then Link stopped deceiving himself and knew that he was looking at the footprint of a man's boot.