57

A couple ofweeks after their arrival, Vandaele and Dalziel built a raft and crossed the Nahanni, and a week later they were working at the extreme north end of the line. On the way there, they’d checked the gravel bars carefully for any sign of Eppler and Mulholland.

“That creek coming in over there drains Glacier Lake,” said Dalziel.

Vandaele stared across the river. “No sign of any cuttings. Looks like it would be one hell of a thrash if we actually went up that creek.”

“Yeah,” said Dalziel.

They double-checked the gravel bars on the way back.

No sign of anything, but close to the main camp they were able to add to their larder. A breeze was coming up the river, blowing their scent away from a couple of caribou plodding up a bar, and they spent the next two days cleaning, cutting and carrying meat.

“That was good luck,” said Dalziel as they bedded down after getting the last of the meat into the cache. “It’s not fat meat, like moose, but it’ll do for now. The dogs were getting hungry.”

Dalziel settled into his sleeping bag to read for a while, placing a kerosene lamp on a log close to his head.

“Your back’s been bothering you,” he said, before opening the Treasury. “I could tell when we were moving that meat.”

“A bit,” said Vandaele.

“More than a bit.”

“I pulled it bad when I was in my teens, lugging stones for the foundation of our barn. It goes away.”

Dalziel turned back to his book.

“Where’d you go to school, Dal?”

“In Vancouver. A private school.”

“How come?”

“My dad was an engineer and inventor. He worked at home. He didn’t like kids around because it broke his concentration, so we were all boarded at school through the week.”

“How’d you get into trapping?”

“Boy Scouts. I think I read everything that Ernest Thompson Seton and Jack London ever wrote. Then one of the Scout leaders brought in a war buddy of his who worked on the telegraph line near Quesnel and trapped in his spare time. He took us up Lynn Canyon and showed us how to set snares and traps. I put my own line along False Creek. The headmaster saw me there one weekend and asked me why I wasn’t at home. When I explained that I was trapping, he asked how much I made in a good week. I told him, and he said it was more than his salary.”

“What did your parents think?”

“They had more important things to worry about.”

“Did you finish school?”

“Yeah. Then I headed north with a school friend. We took the road to Smithers and followed the line to Telegraph Creek.”