“Beverly, fet ch the radio, and we’ll call.”
His wife scooted from the room.
“But the weather’s picking up, and I suspect they won’t be able to fly in tonight,” Mr. Paulson added.
“I must leave in the morning,” Clementine said. “I have to be off at daylight. If you have some fuel?”
“Of course,” Mr. Paulson said. “But w e can’t let you go there alone, so I’ll follow and bring medical supplies. Between the two of us, we can do what we need until help arrives.” He leaned back in his chair and waved at the coffee. “Drink up. You look like you could use it.”
Clementine obeyed, her thoughts whirling, and her need to share about the footprints returned. Perhaps Mr. Paulson would have some insight. “I saw footprints,” she said.
Mr. Paulson looked across at her , his eyebrows raised. “Footprints?”
“ Outside my place. Then, on a piece of charred wood at his.”
“ And you think they’re related to his injury? I wouldn’t think they’d be from the same man,” he replied. “Not that far apart. Unless we’re talking days travel?”
“Six, so far,” she replied, “ and they’re the same pattern. Man’s boots, larger than the span of my hand.”
“The gold,” Mr. Paulson said. “Best I bring a gun. You have one?”
“Yes.”
Her stomach twisted. She’d wanted to leave it with Ezekiel, but he’d insisted. You only brought one, and you might need it. I can’t fire the thing laying here like this.
Can’t fire, and him out there defenseless. If anything happ ened to him while she was gone—
She reached for her coffee and hid her flushed face behind the mug.
***
Ezekiel awakened to the sound of footsteps crossing the snow and minutes later, stared through the crack in the teepee entrance at what were large, male boots. He wrapped one hand around Timmy’s neck, her growl vibrating through his fingertips.
“Hello?” he called.
The boots shifted and a face appeared in the entrance, well-lined, dark-skinned, native.
“George?”
The Eskimo nodded. “What have you done with yourself, Zeek?” he asked.
“Someone played target practice with me.”
George crawled inside and seated himself. He prodded at the fire, sending sparks whirling into the air. “You’re not here alone.”
“No. My friend, she went for help.”
“She?” George’s lips split into a grin. “You have a woman?”
Ezekiel lay back on the pallet. “A beautiful woman, tough as nails. She’s saved me twice. I … I’m glad to see you though. My leg …”
George lifted the blanket and ran his hand around the wound. “You will lose your leg.”
“I hope not. She’ll be back. She’ll find someone.”
George’s shoulders stiffened, and he lowered the blanket. “There is no one to find.”
“Yeah, there is,” Ezekiel insisted. “The Paulsons. She’ll be on her way back by now. Trust me. No one’s more determined to save me than she is. She’ll succeed.”
Timmy’ s growl returned, her fur rising on end, and Ezekiel wrapped a hand around her muzzle. “Guess the dog doesn’t like Eskimos,” he said with a laugh.
George dug in his pocket and produced a knife. Flicking open the blade, he stabbed it into the ground.
Ezekiel stared at the buried point, his stomach lurching. George had some odd ways about him, once again the result of a lot of solitude, as well as his native beliefs. But he’d been very helpful when he’d first moved out here, shown him how to survive, and helped him build his place.
“You hungry? She left me some moose.” Ezekiel motioned toward the bowl with his chin.
George raised the bowl to his nose and sniffed. “Is good,” he said. He dipped his fingers in and proceeded to take what remained.
A han d clenched Ezekiel’s gut.
“Hold up there, friend,” he said, his voice shaky. “Leave some for the sick man.”
George lowered the empty bowl, his face growing hard. “You won’t need it.”
***
Sight of Timmy in
His wife scooted from the room.
“But the weather’s picking up, and I suspect they won’t be able to fly in tonight,” Mr. Paulson added.
“I must leave in the morning,” Clementine said. “I have to be off at daylight. If you have some fuel?”
“Of course,” Mr. Paulson said. “But w e can’t let you go there alone, so I’ll follow and bring medical supplies. Between the two of us, we can do what we need until help arrives.” He leaned back in his chair and waved at the coffee. “Drink up. You look like you could use it.”
Clementine obeyed, her thoughts whirling, and her need to share about the footprints returned. Perhaps Mr. Paulson would have some insight. “I saw footprints,” she said.
Mr. Paulson looked across at her , his eyebrows raised. “Footprints?”
“ Outside my place. Then, on a piece of charred wood at his.”
“ And you think they’re related to his injury? I wouldn’t think they’d be from the same man,” he replied. “Not that far apart. Unless we’re talking days travel?”
“Six, so far,” she replied, “ and they’re the same pattern. Man’s boots, larger than the span of my hand.”
“The gold,” Mr. Paulson said. “Best I bring a gun. You have one?”
“Yes.”
Her stomach twisted. She’d wanted to leave it with Ezekiel, but he’d insisted. You only brought one, and you might need it. I can’t fire the thing laying here like this.
Can’t fire, and him out there defenseless. If anything happ ened to him while she was gone—
She reached for her coffee and hid her flushed face behind the mug.
***
Ezekiel awakened to the sound of footsteps crossing the snow and minutes later, stared through the crack in the teepee entrance at what were large, male boots. He wrapped one hand around Timmy’s neck, her growl vibrating through his fingertips.
“Hello?” he called.
The boots shifted and a face appeared in the entrance, well-lined, dark-skinned, native.
“George?”
The Eskimo nodded. “What have you done with yourself, Zeek?” he asked.
“Someone played target practice with me.”
George crawled inside and seated himself. He prodded at the fire, sending sparks whirling into the air. “You’re not here alone.”
“No. My friend, she went for help.”
“She?” George’s lips split into a grin. “You have a woman?”
Ezekiel lay back on the pallet. “A beautiful woman, tough as nails. She’s saved me twice. I … I’m glad to see you though. My leg …”
George lifted the blanket and ran his hand around the wound. “You will lose your leg.”
“I hope not. She’ll be back. She’ll find someone.”
George’s shoulders stiffened, and he lowered the blanket. “There is no one to find.”
“Yeah, there is,” Ezekiel insisted. “The Paulsons. She’ll be on her way back by now. Trust me. No one’s more determined to save me than she is. She’ll succeed.”
Timmy’ s growl returned, her fur rising on end, and Ezekiel wrapped a hand around her muzzle. “Guess the dog doesn’t like Eskimos,” he said with a laugh.
George dug in his pocket and produced a knife. Flicking open the blade, he stabbed it into the ground.
Ezekiel stared at the buried point, his stomach lurching. George had some odd ways about him, once again the result of a lot of solitude, as well as his native beliefs. But he’d been very helpful when he’d first moved out here, shown him how to survive, and helped him build his place.
“You hungry? She left me some moose.” Ezekiel motioned toward the bowl with his chin.
George raised the bowl to his nose and sniffed. “Is good,” he said. He dipped his fingers in and proceeded to take what remained.
A han d clenched Ezekiel’s gut.
“Hold up there, friend,” he said, his voice shaky. “Leave some for the sick man.”
George lowered the empty bowl, his face growing hard. “You won’t need it.”
***
Sight of Timmy in
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