58

Two weeks later, a light snow fell on the upper Nahanni area, and the temperature dropped from just below zero to minus 20.

“The fur on the marten we brought in is starting to look pretty good,” said Dalziel one morning at their main camp. “Let’s get serious and set traps. I’ll head north and you go south.”

A couple of days later, on his way back to camp, Dalziel was standing on the riverbank across from a small island separated from the shore by shallow water. He was watching the river, which now had ice about six inches thick extending six feet out into the stream. On the banks of the small island, on a stretch of mud just above the ice, he saw a familiar shape, a shape that shouldn’t have been there.

It appeared to be a moccasin. The sun had melted the dusting of snow off it, so it stood out against the mud. It was lying directly above two sticks.

Dalziel tied Maverick to a tree, found a pole on the ground and placed it on the bank, pointing at the moccasin. Then he dropped his pack, slung his rifle over his shoulder and walked up to what looked like the shallowest water to cross, a spot where the ice extended clear across. The ice held. He walked down the island until he was lined up directly opposite the pole, went over to the edge and looked down.

The sticks were leg bones. They were still attached to a foot, and that foot was wearing a familiar moccasin.

“For God’s sake.”

So Wade must have tried to walk out the Nahanni on the ice, not going far before stepping into an overflow. His body got snagged on some rocks, probably, and torn apart in the current, the leg only recently released to wash ashore. There were no teeth marks on the bones, and Nazar’s old moccasin was still intact.

Dalziel laid his rifle carefully on the ground. Gripping some willow in both hands, he lowered himself backwards over the bank. The mud was frozen enough to hold. He reached down with one arm and pulled at a leg bone. It broke loose. He reached farther and tugged at the moccasin itself, peeling it slowly off the mud. When he was sure the whole thing was free, he grabbed the bone by its top and lifted it, placing it on the bank. Gripping the willow again, he pulled himself up, shouldered his rifle and grabbed the bones. Holding them above the willow, he made his way back to the riverbank, where he rolled them up in his tarp, untied Maverick and headed for camp. There, he stored them in the Robin under some equipment, and went to make coffee and wait for Vandaele.