Across A Thousand Miles. Nadia Nichols
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my yard.”
“Now, Rebecca,” Ellin said, “let’s just be grateful that he wasn’t more seriously hurt.”
“I can’t be grateful for that right now, because right now I’ve got to drive clear to Flat Creek, find his cabin, and feed his hungry dogs, who incidentally, probably haven’t eaten for several days. Fred Turner was in charge of feeding them.”
Sam cleared his throat. “I know where that cabin is. Been over that way a time or two to visit Fred. I expect I could show you the way.”
“I didn’t know you ever visited Fred Turner,” Ellin said, her voice radiating surprised disapproval. “I can’t imagine what the two of you have in common. Why, that man is nothing more than an alcoholic reprobate!”
“Well, now, Ellin—”
“Would you drive over with me, Sam?” Rebecca asked. “I’ll feed my dogs before we go just in case we get back late. We can throw ten bags of food into the back of my truck and ferry it over.”
“And what about tomorrow?” Ellin asked pointedly. “Who’s going to feed those dogs tomorrow?”
Rebecca stared at her and then nodded slowly. “You’re right.” She slumped again, reconsidering. “Okay. Sam, here’s what we’ll do. We’ll drive over with one bag of food. We’ll feed the dogs, load them into my dog truck and bring them back here. Tomorrow I’ll sort out the rest. At least the dogs will be safe and cared for.” She pushed wearily to her feet. “I’ll get started with my chores.”
“And I’ll run Ellin home on the snowmobile,” Sam said, “and be back directly.”
“You will not,” Ellin retorted. “What about that poor young man? Who’s going to watch him? No, I’d better stay right here and keep an eye on Mac while you two do what you have to do.”
“Thanks, Ellin,” Rebecca said gratefully. “I guess we’ll be back when we get here.”
As she lugged the heavy buckets around the dog yard, scooping out the evening feed a good two hours early to her surprised huskies, she reflected on how much more complicated life had become in the past two days. She finished her chores in record time while Sam filled the wood box and hauled a couple of buckets of water from the spring. They climbed into her dog truck and she gave the cold engine a good prime before turning it on. It caught instantly and roared to life. “There’s nothing like a Ford,” she said to Sam, who returned with his usual, “unless it’s a Chevy.”
She was driving past the guest cabin when its door opened and that damn nuisance of a man emerged, pulling on his parka and weakly waving for her to stop. She did, nearly throwing Sam into the dashboard. She jumped out of the truck and charged toward him. “Where do you think you’re going! Get back inside!” She raised her arm and pointed behind him. “If you puncture a lung, don’t expect any sympathy from me!”
MacKenzie finished pulling on his parka. “If you’re going up to my place, I figured I’d ride along. I can take care of my dogs better than anyone. All I ask is that you throw a few bags of food in the back of your truck.”
“I mean it,” Rebecca warned. “Get back into bed!”
“I feel fine. I can certainly ride in a truck for a couple of hours, and I can take care of my own dogs. You’ll have your cabin back, too.”
“I won’t say it again,” Rebecca warned.
“You won’t have to,” Ellin said, walking up behind MacKenzie. “Go on, Rebecca. You and Sam get going.” She reached out and closed one hand firmly around MacKenzie’s upper arm. “You may think you’re big and tough, young man, but believe me, you don’t have anything on little old Ellin Dodge.”
Rebecca turned on her heel, stormed back to the truck and hoisted herself behind the wheel. Without looking back, she gunned the truck down the rutted, snow-covered track, causing Sam to clutch the dash with both hands.
“I’m so sick of arrogant, egotistical men!” Rebecca blurted.
“Well, I can surely understand that,” Sam said, casting her a wry glance. “You see so darn many of ’em on a day-to-day basis!”
It took nearly two hours to drive to the MacKenzie cabin on the banks of Flat Creek, the last few miles of unplowed road a white-knuckled adventure. “There it is,” Sam said, as the truck’s headlights picked out a wall of gray weathered logs. No lights shone from the windows, no smoke curled from the chimney, but to Rebecca’s relief the dogs appeared to be all right. She put on her headlamp and carried a bucket of kibble around the dog lot, giving each hungry animal a generous scoop. “This dog’s name is Merlin,” she said to Sam. “He’s Brian’s best leader and one of the smartest dogs I’ve ever known.” She gave Merlin a friendly pat. “I’ll water them when we get them home,” she said. “They aren’t dying of thirst, not with a foot and a half of snow on the ground.”
She went to the cabin door, noting that there were no tracks in the snow, and pulled the latch string. The door swung open. The cabin’s interior was as cold as ice, and in the light cast from her headlamp she panned the small, low-eaved room. It was an unbelievable mess. Dirty dishes and cooking pans filled the dry sink. A frying pan with something still in it was atop the stove. Clothing was heaped and thrown everywhere and trash covered the floor. Three empty whiskey bottles stood upon the cluttered table. Fred Turner had obviously stayed long enough to drink all of MacKenzie’s liquor before moving to greener pastures.
She slammed the door shut behind her and began the arduous process of loading fourteen dogs into her truck, gambling on which dogs could share a dog box without fighting. At length she and Sam had accomplished the task and the nervous growls and whines had faded into silence. It had begun to snow again. “Well,” she said to Sam, “let’s head for home.”
They left the MacKenzie cabin and crept slowly homeward in steadily worsening conditions. By the time her familiar turnoff came into view, three more hours had passed, and it was nearly midnight when they pulled into the kennel yard. Ellin had kept the lamps burning in the cabin, and the yellow glow shining through the frosted windowpanes warmed Rebecca’s heart. “Sam, take Ellin home in my plow truck,” she said as they climbed wearily out of the cab. “I’ll start it and get it warming up for you. And thanks a million for helping out.”
“Anytime, Rebecca. You know that.”
Ellin was waiting at the door when she entered. “He’s still alive,” she said.
“What a relief,” Rebecca said, scowling.
“It hasn’t been easy for him. He’s in quite a bit of pain, but he tries not to let on. His dog is in the cabin with him. She really wanted to be near him.”
“Ellin, have you been holding his hand the whole time we’ve been gone?”
“No, but I looked in on him from time to time and kept the woodstove going. I brought him some supper, some of your stew. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not,” Rebecca said.
“He ate a little bit, but he doesn’t look very good to me. I think you should check on him. Maybe we should call Sadie back.”
“Certainly not. She has to drive nearly an hour to get here. If he’s dying, I’ll drive him into Dawson. If he isn’t, he’ll just have to suffer out the night. But first I’ll need to let his dogs out of the boxes and water them. You two get on home. It’s way past Sam’s bedtime. And, Ellin?” She gave her friend a grateful hug. “Thanks. I owe you.”
Rebecca spent the next hour tethering Mac’s dogs on two picket lines she’d strung between the spruce trees in her yard. She gave them pans of water flavored with meat scraps and kibble, and they drank the offering eagerly. She left them outside in the gentle snowfall while she spooned down a plate of the moose-meat stew herself, and then she loaded the dogs back into the truck for the night. This was an arduous chore. Lifting a sixty-pound dog up over her head