THE SNOW HAD stopped during the night. Grace was anxious to go outside to check on the dogs, but the other kids insisted that they all talk and plan. They didn’t understand yet that in this land, plans were made to be changed.
“It’s just as well that Andrew slept through breakfast,” Polly said. Their meal had consisted of hot water and twenty of Billy’s peanuts for each of them.
“So what are we going to do?” Robert asked the question before he remembered that he always told people what to do.
“We need to slaughter the pony,” Grace said.
“Yes,” Polly agreed. “We should eat a big stew, and then …” She looked at Robert and Billy. “Robert, do you think you feel well enough to hike to the depot with Billy?”
Robert nodded. “Sure.” His shoulder still hurt, but he could do it.
“We need all the food we can get.” Polly bit her lip and looked over at Andrew’s sleeping figure. She reminded herself that she would do whatever she could to help Andrew survive. But she wasn’t ready yet to talk to the others about their long-term options.
“If we don’t make it back in one day, we can always sleep under the sled,” Robert said.
“You could make it there and back if you used the dogs,” Grace suggested.
“If we take the dogs, you need to come with us,” said Billy.
“We don’t know how fast gangrene sets in,” Polly explained.
“Oh,” Billy said.
They all looked over at Andrew.
Grace had wrapped Andrew’s feet in the warmest blankets, but this morning, when she had checked his toes, they had been blistered and lifeless.
“Billy, let’s hook up one dog to the sled,” Robert said. “We can put him in a simple harness.”
“Good idea,” said Grace. She felt sick, thinking of the operation that she might have to perform.
“Robert,” Polly said, “in Scott’s diaries, he said that they had some opium but refused to take it. Do you remember seeing any little white pills?”
“Yeah. Check the first-aid kit,” Robert said.
Polly crawled to the pile where they kept the kit. She sifted through its contents. Sure enough, she saw a little brown bottle with ten white pills in it. The bottle was unmarked, but Polly guessed that she had found her painkiller.
If Andrew’s toes turned black, what choice would they have then but for Grace to amputate them? Polly held the bottle tightly in her hand. It would make things a lot easier. She turned to the other kids. “Don’t think I’m crazy, but I’m going to try talking to Birdie.”
Robert looked curiously at her.
Polly turned to the ceiling. “So, Birdie!” she called. “If you can hear me, please let me know what we should do.”
Silence can be earsplitting, Grace thought.
Grace stuck a knife in her pants before exiting the tent. The new snow shimmered in the sunlight. In some places, it was deep.
Polly peeked out of the tent and watched Robert, Grace, and Billy push through the powdery snow toward the pony. There was a grace about us when we staggered on and kept our tempers—even with God.
They had taken only a few steps when Robert realized that something was wrong.
“What happened?” Billy said. Big patches of blood had reddened the snow.
“The dogs couldn’t have gotten loose. They couldn’t have,” Grace said. And then she saw Brontosaurus sitting on his haunches behind the sleds. She had forgotten about him. His tongue was lolling out of his mouth. With his blood-spattered fur and snout, he looked pleased with himself.
Where is Cookie? Robert thought.
“Oh no,” Grace groaned.
Robert stared down at the bloody carcass partly hidden by snow. The stupid dog had killed the pony sometime during the storm.
“Now what are we going to do?” Billy said.
“Let’s get that dog,” Robert said.
“What do you think Brontosaurus stew would taste like?” Billy would have loved to eat a big bowl out of spite.
Grace scraped snow off the carcass of the pony. She saw bloody bones, but also meat on the legs and the head.
Billy and Robert gazed at the unappetizing spectacle.
“We can make a stew,” Grace said.
“I want to kill that dog,” Billy said through gritted teeth.
“Let’s take the legs back to the tent and feed the head and guts to the dogs,” Robert said.
Billy swallowed to keep from getting sick.
Grace turned and noticed Brontosaurus again. “Bronty!” She kept her voice light and happy.
For once, the runaway sat still. Grace grabbed the dog by the scruff of his neck.
Was there ever such a contrary dog? Billy thought.