Lone Wolves by John Smelcer Page B

lobster. But I don’t know if that true ’cause I never ate lobster.”
    â€œThat’s because you’re a poor man,” said Joseph with a big smile.
    All three laughed.
    â€œIt was hard out there today, standing around on the ice check ing my holes and waiting for fish to bite,” said Joseph. “I’m getting too old for that kind of thing. Better to sit inside where it warm and drink tsaey . That’s tea , in case you didn’t know,” he said to Denny.
    â€œI know what tsaey is,” Denny replied defiantly.
    Sampson interrupted.
    â€œWe both getting old,” he said.
    â€œHow old are you now, Cousin,” asked Joseph.
    â€œSeventy-six, which means you seventy-five.”
    Joseph Yazzie leaned back in his creaking chair.
    â€œWe getting old, I tell you what,” he said, and then got up to stoke the dying fire and pour a cup of hot tea from a blue pot on the stove.

    The next day, more than a dozen different dog teams crowded into the village for the race. All the mushers, except Denny, were men. Denny was checking the rigging and the booties on each dog when Silas Charley arrived on his father’s snowmobile.
    â€œTold you I’d be here,” he said, after turning off the engine and raising the visor on his helmet.
    Denny smiled.
    â€œI’m glad you’re here. I’m really nervous.”
    â€œJust run the race. Don’t worry about everyone else. You’re pretty good. I’ve watched you,” said Silas.
    â€œThanks,” replied Denny.
    Just then her grandfather came over.
    â€œIt’s time,” he said. “You need to get over to the starting area.”
    He helped Denny tie on her race bib with a large, black number 7 on the front and back.
    â€œThat a lucky number,” he said.
    A drawing determined the order in which each musher would leave the starting gate. Denny was sixth, about halfway among the teams. In sled racing, each team starts several minutes after the previous one, providing room on the trail. Unlike with a marathon or other foot race, officials mark the start and finish time of every team. Whoever completes the race in the shortest time is the winner. Sometimes a team “scratches,” or pulls out of the race, if they encounter an insurmountable problem, like a broken runner.
    The race course was a simple route. I t went upriver for about seven miles, turned off into the woods and followed a slough back to the river where the race started. Mushers were to run the loop twice. Locals lined the trail in places, sitting on their snowmobiles or lawn chairs, drinking hot coffee, and cheering for their favorite musher, often a relative. Some spectators built bonfires around which children and adults alike roasted hot dogs or marshmallows.
    Silas waved at Denny when she passed.
    â€œYou go, girl!” he yelled.
    After finishing the first loop, Denny had moved up to fifth place. On the wide-open stretch along the frozen river, she pulled ahead of another team and was in fourth. By the time she emerged from the slough a half mile before the finish line, she was in third place, with no team close enough behind to seriously challenge her. Denny was gaining on the team in second. With a little more distance to the finish line, she might have passed it. Out of a dozen teams in the race, all led by men, 16-year-old-rookie Deneena Yazzie finished in third place. She smiled proudly when officials announced her name on the loudspeaker, handing her a small trophy and a check for $400.
    â€œI told you that you ready. Didn’t I tell you?” said Sampson in a voice hoarse from cheering. “You a real racer now. I’m proud of you.”
    Denny hugged her grandfather, with her trophy in one hand and the prize check in the other. She wondered what her mother would say when she told her the good news.
    Afterward, Denny and Silas bumped fists to celebrate.
    â€œYou were real good out there,” he