Far North by Will Hobbs Page A

as he unlaced his boots and stepped onto the tarp, quickly stripping down to bare flesh and reaching for his thermal underwear. “What do you have in your daypack?”
    â€œA couple of changes of underwear, some heavy winter socks, a wool scarf, my big mittens. I’m wearing my thermals, a heavy wool shirt, and I’ve got these heavy wool trousers.”
    â€œNot enough,” he said, and handed me a sweater, then another one to the old man. “I got two more pairs of trousers, one for you and one for me.”
    â€œYou mean wear two pairs at the same time?”
    â€œThat’s what he’s doing already,” Raymond said, nodding toward his great-uncle.
    â€œWhat about his feet in those moccasins?”
    â€œThose big moosehide moccasins work as long as they’re dry. Those old guys like him are tough.”
    â€œWhat about your boots? They don’t look as good as mine.”
    â€œGood enough,” Raymond said. “They’re new, too. My dad got ’em for me when he took me to Yellowknife.” Raymond took a turquoise ski headband out of the pocket of his parka and handed it to the old man, who didn’t seem to have a cap. The old man said something in his language and pulled the headband over his ears. He didn’t look tough to me. He looked frail.
    Raymond and I crawled into the shelter with our sleeping bags and started arranging them on the spruce boughs. The old man was still sittingby the fire, wrapped in the blanket. Raymond said, “Sleep in everything you got on; you’re going to need it.”
    â€œIn Scouts,” I said, “when I was a kid…they told us it was warmer to sleep nude inside your sleeping bag.”
    â€œHa! I wish I could tell that to Johnny! He’d think that was pretty funny. Want to try it tonight?”
    â€œNo thanks,” I said. “I think I’ll take your advice. All I’m taking off is my boots.”
    Within two minutes there was a little whistle in Raymond’s breath. He was already asleep. I bent double against the cold and watched the full moon rise over the mountains through a break in the clouds. I was shivering, more from fear, I think, than from the cold. The adrenaline was still pumping panic through my veins. Try to be brave, I told myself. This is when it really counts. I could hear my mother telling me how strong I was, how tough. She always said that. I didn’t feel strong at all. I felt more like crying.
    A branch was sticking me in the side. I tossed and turned, realizing how hungry I was. Tomorrow we’d eat something. Not much, that’s for sure. I wasn’t going to mention food again. And no more complaining about the cold, I told myself. That’s not going to make it any warmer.No matter what happens now, at least I’m not alone. I have Raymond and that old man Johnny Raven. I drifted off thinking about my father. By now he knows we’re missing. He’ll make sure they keep searching until they find us.
    I woke in the dim twilight of morning to a crackling sound. I didn’t know where I was. All I could see was Raymond’s black hair sticking out of the zippered top of his sleeping bag. I smelled the pitchy scent of spruce trees. Then it all came back, what had happened and where we were. The crackling sound was the sound of the campfire. And now I saw that three inches of snow as fine as salt had fallen during the night. It was bitter cold. I heard the background roar of the falls and remembered Clint and all that talk about the hammer. Well, I thought, the hammer’s down now, no question about it. I looked at my watch. It was just before 8:00 A.M., and the date said it was the first day of November.
    Raymond kept sleeping. I joined the old man at the campfire. He acknowledged me with a nod of his head and a gentle smile. The old Dene was still wrapped in the wool blanket. The years had worn his face with so many creases it looked like a