34

Little Black River, T19, R12

John Bear saw the Dowds ahead and gave his throttle a twist, sending him speeding forward. He passed the last sled in the line and recognized Louis Dowd. He believed that Earl and Linwood rode the two lead sleds. As he came abreast of the first sled, he motioned the driver to stop. As soon as the convoy halted and Murphy joined them, John removed his helmet and the lead Dowd rider did the same.

“Earl, what in hell do you think you’re doing?” John inquired.

“I’m going after my grandson—again.”

“This ain’t the way to do it, man. It’s a police matter and we’ll take care of it.”

Linwood Dowd sat on the second sled and he said, “Police matter my ass. This is a Dowd matter.”

Fatigue was evident on the old man’s face and John said, “Lin, you ain’t up to this. You have heart attack or stroke out here and you’ll be dead before they can get anyone to you—then where will your great-grandson be?”

“Fuck you, Bear. I’ll be going long after you and these young pups have give out.”

John leaned back on his seat. He realized that the Dowds were not about to forego the quest and opted to make the best of a bad thing. “Looks like he’s running for Big Black River, and from there he can easily get to the border. How you boys fixed for gas? There ain’t no place for fuel between here and St. Pamphile. Most likely, he’ll head for St. Pamphile and try and cross over in the wilderness south of there. We’ve alerted the RCMP, the Border Patrol, and every other agency we could think of. They’re patrolling the Slash from the air as well as from the ground, still there’re hundreds of places where he can cross and we’d never know it. All that bein’ said, why don’t you boys head on home and leave this to us. Whether you believe it or not, we know what we’re doing.”

Murphy sat in awe. Never before had he heard John Bear talk so long. He also saw the Dowds thinking over what they’d been told. Maybe, he thought, they’ll listen. His hopes were dashed when Buster said, “I don’t give a shit about what anyone else does, but I’m going after my boy—and when I catch that crazy bastard … ,” he slid his rifle out of the special scabbard that was mounted to the front of his sled, “I’m gonna kill the sonuvabitch.”

“Buster, you do that and I’ll have to come after you and place you under arrest.”

“Ask me if I give a shit.”

John turned to Linwood. “Lin, be rational about this. Go home, before this kills you. If your boy and his sons want to go on I won’t stop them, but I don’t want to see you die out here.”

Linwood Dowd looked at John for a few seconds and then at his sons.

“He’s right, Dad,” Earl said. “We got to go faster, we don’t know how far ahead he is. You’ll only slow us down.”

John saw a look of resignation cross Linwood’s face. He knew the old man was here only because to turn back would be a tremendous loss of face and one thing Old Maine men had plenty of was pride. Linwood had fought valiantly in a faraway war, then returned home to forge Dowd Settlement from primeval forest and then fathered and raised a family on that land. Nevertheless, he was forced to accept the wisdom of Earl’s words. He nodded in surrender.

“Okay, you boys go on, I’ll head back.” He pointed a warning finger at his son. “Earl, you bring that boy back no matter what it takes—or you’ll all answer to me.” As he made that last statement he looked John Bear squarely in the eye. “That goes for every damned man jack of you.”

The senior Dowd turned his Arctic Cat around and headed down the trail they’d cut.

Murphy watched the old man depart and when he was out of sight said, “What do you think, John?”

“I think you should follow him. Once you see that he’s safe get in touch with Michaud and tell him what’s happened and get an air search going … have them place emphasis on the Slash between Lac-de-l’Est and St. Pamphile.”

Murphy nodded and set off behind Linwood Dowd.

John turned his attention to Earl and his brothers. “If I can’t talk you out of this, we might as well work together. Let’s figure out what we’re goin’ to do.”

_____________

T18, R13

The Wendigo stood in the trees studying the rudimentary cabin before him. Smoke furled from the chimney and hung low in the air, smelling of the not-unpleasant scent of burning hardwood. He motioned for the boy to join him and together they watched until an elderly man walked out of the cabin and followed a path of packed snow around the side of the cabin. Moments later he returned with his arms full of firewood.

When the man was back inside the cabin, the Wendigo led Dwain to a copse of alders.

“I know,” Dwain said, “stay here.”

The Wendigo returned to the spot where he’d stood vigil and waited for a few moments before approaching the cabin. Upon reaching the door he saw that it was secured by the simplest of door latches, a metal handle with a flat piece for the thumb to press down, releasing the catch inside. He yelled and kicked it open. The door broke into pieces and he was inside.

In minutes the Wendigo returned to the boy and handed him a piece of raw meat.

Dwain looked ravenous as his teeth ripped into the meat.

_____________

John stopped and spied footprints leading out of the trees. The scent of wood smoke was in the air and he removed a Maglite from his storage compartment. He trailed the light along the prints in the snow and followed them. He walked about fifty yards and saw the small cabin. A thin stream of smoke rose from the chimney and the door was either open or missing. As he approached he heard noise inside and he removed his service pistol from its holster. When he was within twenty-five feet of the door, he shined the light inside and called out, “Hello in the cabin …”

The only reply he got was a low guttural growl. In the harsh beam of the Maglite, he saw that the door had been smashed into several pieces. He took another step and heard movement inside. Suddenly four shiny dots appeared inside. Whatever the cabin held, predators—coyotes most likely—had found food and they were not about to give up their bounty easily. John stood still, raising the pistol up and aiming it at the door. Two coyotes appeared in the door, their snouts red with whatever they’d been feasting on. John fired a shot into the air and the two canines burst out of the cabin and bounded off into the woods.

John heard noise behind him and then Earl Dowd say, “What you got?”

Without turning, John replied, “Unless I missed my guess, I’d say they stopped here for supper.”

They entered the cabin and John shined the Maglite around the interior. When the light beam hit the eviscerated corpse, he heard Earl spin and rush outside. Moments later he heard the unmistakable sound of someone vomiting. He ignored the activity behind him and studied the mess on the table. He’d seen worse carcasses before, but none of them were human. He took out his GPS and made note of the coordinates so that he could either return or send someone to recover the body—or what remained of it.

John turned and walked outside into the night. “Well,” he commented, “I guess we aren’t spending the night in there.”

“No shit,” Earl Dowd said.

John walked to his sled, threw one leg over the seat and said, “We need to find some place to settle down for the night—then I need to tell you guys what it is we’re chasing.”

_____________

John Bear and the Dowds found a thick stand of evergreen trees and used the snow-laden lower branches to create cover for themselves. The Dowds had come prepared for a prolonged stay in the woods and in no time had spread tarps on the ground and made crude shelters. Buster had a good-sized fire going, beside which they sat drinking hot coffee while they waited for Earl to finish cooking fish on a camp stove.

Earl turned away from the Coleman stove and used a pair of tongs to pick the hot fish out of the cast-iron skillet he’d cooked them in. When he tossed a portion onto John’s plate he asked, “What’s gonna happen to this sumbitch when we catch up with him?”

“I won’t be able to arrest him,” John commented.

“Why not?” Buster queried.

Earl scoffed. “Because some asshole judge will let him out, either on a technicality or he’ll let him post bond—then he’ll light out for the woods again—probably never again to be found.”

John swallowed a mouthful of fish and washed it down with a drink of coffee. “Earl, this thing ain’t human—it was once but no more.”

“You lace that coffee?” Earl asked.

“Tell me something, you boys have grown up and made your living in these woods, right?”

“So?” Louis said.

“You ever before seen a track like this thing leaves?”

His audience was quiet.

John finished his coffee and reached for the pot. “This thing is old … real old. My people have known of its existence since the beginning of time—it’s an evil spirit that we call the Wendigo….”