59

By mid-November, the thermometer was hitting minus 40 at night and two feet of snow covered the ground. Open water was a steaming narrow band down the centre of the river. Vandaele was learning how to scrape hides efficiently, and stretch and stitch them onto the thin boards that Dalziel had in his cache, most of them for marten but some larger ones for lynx.

“When you go after beaver in the spring, you stretch them flat, not folded over boards. Make willow hoops.”

By November 22, the Nahanni was frozen solid. Dalziel announced that he would leave to check out Rabbitkettle Lake and the burned cabin at Glacier Lake. He attached the bonnet to the plane and put the heaters inside.

“I’ll be back before dusk. While I’m gone, I want you to start on a new cache, a bit farther back in the bush and higher up than the old one. The trapping is going to be pretty good, and if you have any luck getting more meat, you’ll need the space. Just copy the old cache, and use pieces of stovepipe to surface the uprights so the varmints can’t get in. You’ll have enough tin to reach a couple of feet down from the floor of the cache.”

Vandaele nodded. He thought he should be accompanying Dal, considering the petition, but something in Dal’s voice kept him from saying this. Anyway, Dal had waited so long that the ground was now covered by deep snow. There wouldn’t be much of a search.

Dalziel didn’t drop into either lake. Instead, he circled Rabbitkettle, gaining altitude over the spot where he’d dumped Wade’s artillery, turning and still climbing along the south buttress of Mount Sidney Dobson, crossing high over the Rabbitkettle River, and then skimming down over small snowfields and glaciers, across the valley of Irvine Creek and over the hills to the Flat River. He came down just above the outlet of the Caribou River.

“Surprise, surprise,” said Zenchuk, ambling out on the river ice to meet the plane.

“Good to see you, Nazar. I haven’t got much time.”

They covered the Robin’s engine and set the kerosene heaters underneath. Dalziel retrieved the rolled-up tarp from the back of the plane, and they went into the cabin.

“A gift,” said Dalziel in response to Zenchuk’s questioning glance.

As Zenchuk poured coffee, he asked, “How’d you get the plane back?”

“Part of a long story.”

“Let’s have it. I need some talk. Last people I saw were Diamond and Newton, heading out from Faille’s. They know that the cabin at Rabbitkettle is burnt to the ground, but it seems now that Amos Singletree and his family came out before we did last spring, from somewhere way up. He could’ve made those camps and for all Newton knows he could’ve blown up the cabin. Diamond was joking about it, but Newton’s pretty frustrated.”

“Well.”

“So?”

“I flew meat into Yellowknife until the end of September and then got myself dropped into Simpson to see about the plane and meet up with Harry. The plane was still in stir, and no Harry. So I went over to Whittington’s. Andy told me that he spotted Eppler in Vancouver.”

“When it comes to a good story, Andy’s as much to be trusted as a snake-oil salesman.”

“He also heard, from Ernie Wainman, that one of Eppler’s Newfies turned up in Telegraph Creek.”

“And what does Andy make of all this?”

“He thinks Bill and Joe found gold. They had an argument. Bill killed Joe and took off for Australia with a bag of nuggets.”

Zenchuk laughed. “No wonder nobody believes a damn thing Andy says.”

“Some people do.”

“The Turner brothers and the usual crowd at Andy’s?”

Dalziel nodded. “Anyway, Andy and Stan Turner, with some prompting from Harry, drew up a petition that everyone in town signed, asking Truesdell to release the plane so that Harry and I could fly in on another search.”

“Harry? I think I know what’s coming. Tell me it’s not so.”

“It is so. I gave him a course in trapping, and he’s working the line right now.”

“A good joke. Truesdell will go crazy when he finds out. But I got the impression you wouldn’t be putting Harry on that line. It’s not safe, Dal. We might think Wade’s finished or gone out of the area by now, but we can’t be sure.”

“Oh yeah?” Dal reached for the tarp, which he’d placed on the bed, and flipped it open.

Zenchuk stared at it for a long time. Finally he said, “So we are sure. We can stop watching our backs. But where’d you find it?”

“On the banks of a small island, just up the Nahanni from the mouth of the Rabbitkettle.”

“He must’ve walked out on the river after you chased him away from the cabin. He must’ve gone into an overflow.”

“Looks like it.”

They resumed drinking their coffee.

“So now what?” said Zenchuk. “You’ll probably get the plane back soon. Will you trap for the rest of the winter?”

“No. It’s over, Nazar. Truesdell got his law passed—no more using your own plane to trap. Do you want to be a part of an outfitting business?”

“On that lake up the Redstone River?”

“Yeah. It’s close to the action at Fort Norman and Eldorado. Mining and oil experts and investors are in and out all the time, and a lot of them want sheep. As soon as Truesdell releases the plane, I’ll start flying in materials, and we’ll build a fair-sized cabin.”

“I’ll work on the cabin in the summer, but I’m not interested in babysitting hunters. Can’t stand most of them, like your admirer, Snyder. In October, you can fly me to Jackfish Lake or the Hyland River and I’ll trap there. It’s time this line was left a while.”

“A deal,” said Dalziel, and stood up. “If I stay any longer, the Robin’ll be cold.”

“Take that bloody thing with you.”

Laughing, Dalziel wrapped the leg up again. As he flew toward Irvine Creek, he extracted it from the canvas and dropped it into the forest below.

“In pace requiesat,” he muttered, thinking as he said it that he meant it as much for himself as for Wade.

A half-hour later, just before dusk as promised, Dalziel landed at Vandaele’s camp.

“What did you find?”

“Nothing new at Glacier Lake, but I dropped into Rabbitkettle Lake too, across from the hotsprings. The cabin that was there is gone.”

Vandaele shook his head. “Newton will never be able to figure out what happened up here.”

“Something strange, for sure. Does it make you nervous about staying here?”

“No. There’s nobody around. Anyway, I need the money. But I’ve been thinking, Dal. I can already see that the line’s going to be too much for me. How about if you contact my brother Joe in Spruce View? They have a phone. If he doesn’t want to trap, he’ll know someone who does. It’ll be $200 or so for MAS to fly someone in from Edmonton, but I’m sure it would pay. We’d get more pelts, and with a partner I could raft them all down the river.”

“You could deck over the pontoons and come out on them. But if nobody turns up, you know what to do.”

“Leave the pelts. Go down Irvine to Faille’s. Don’t worry, Dal. I’ve been stupid when it comes to prospecting, but I know enough about this river. The last thing I’d do is put out on it by myself on a raft.”