Dark spruce forests loomed on both sides of the frozen river. A recent wind had stripped the trees of their white frost, leaving them black and ominous in the fading light. A vast silence reigned over the land—a land so desolate and cold that it seemed to lack even the spirit of sadness. There was a hint of laughter in the air, yet it was a laughter more terrifying than any sorrow. It was the indifferent, ancient wisdom of the Wild, mocking the struggle of life. This was the savage, frozen-hearted Northland.
Nevertheless, life did exist in this wasteland. Down the frozen waterway toiled a team of wolf-like dogs. Their bristly fur was coated with frost, and their breath froze instantly, forming crystals on their bodies. The dogs were harnessed to a sled made of stout birch-bark, which lacked runners and rested entirely on the snow. Securely tied to the sled was a long, narrow wooden box, surrounded by blankets, an axe, a coffee pot, and a frying pan.
In front of the dogs, a man moved slowly on wide snowshoes; a second man followed behind the sled. Inside the box lay a third man whose journey had ended. The Wild had finally conquered him, crushing his spirit until he would never move again. In the North, life is an offence because life is movement, and the Wild aims to bring all movement to a standstill. It freezes the water, drives the sap from the trees, and most ferociously of all, it hunts the most restless of creatures: man.
Yet, the two men still living were indomitable. Covered in fur and leather, their faces were hidden behind masks of frozen breath, making them look like ghostly undertakers at a funeral. Underneath the frost, however, they were simply brave adventurers, pitting their small strength against a world as remote and cold as deep space.
They travelled in silence, saving their energy for the physical struggle. The vastness of the landscape pressed upon them, forcing them to realize how small and insignificant they truly were. They were merely specks moving with weak cunning amidst the great, blind forces of nature.
As the pale light of the sunless day began to fade, a faint cry arose in the still air. It soared upward in a swift rush, remained tense for a moment, then slowly died away. It sounded like a lost soul wailing, filled with a hungry eagerness. The man in front turned to meet the eyes of the man behind, and they both nodded over the long box.
A second cry pierced the silence, coming from the snowy expanse they had just crossed. Then, a third cry answered from the left.
“They’re after us, Bill,” the man in front remarked. His voice was hoarse, and speaking seemed to require a great effort.
“Meat is scarce,” his companion replied. “I haven't seen a single rabbit track for days.”
They said no more, though they remained alert, listening to the hunting cries that continued to rise behind them. At nightfall, they steered the dogs into a cluster of spruce trees and set up camp. The coffin served as both their seat and their table. The dogs huddled together on the far side of the fire, snarling at one another but showing no desire to wander off into the darkness.
“Henry, they’re staying remarkably close to the fire,” Bill observed.
Henry, who was busy preparing coffee, nodded. He didn’t speak until he had sat down on the coffin to eat. “They know where they’re safe. They’d rather eat food than become food themselves. They’re clever dogs.”
Bill shook his head doubtfully. “I’m not so sure.”
Henry looked at him curiously. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you doubt their intelligence.”
“Henry,” Bill said, chewing his beans slowly, “did you notice how they acted when I was feeding them?”
“They were a bit more excited than usual,” Henry admitted.
“We have six dogs, right?” Bill asked. “Well, I took six fish out of the bag. I gave one to each dog, but I was one fish short.”
“You must have counted wrong,” Henry suggested.
“I’m telling you, I took out six fish. One Ear didn’t get one, so I had to go back to the bag for him. Henry, there were seven of them eating.”
Henry stopped eating and glanced across the fire to count. “There are only six now,” he said.
“I saw the other one run off into the snow,” Bill insisted. “I’m certain I saw seven.”
Henry looked at him with pity. “I’ll be glad when this trip is over. This load we’re carrying is getting on your nerves. You’re starting to see things.”
“I thought of that,” Bill replied gravely. “But I checked the snow and saw the tracks. Do you want to see them?”
Henry didn’t answer. He finished his meal and wiped his mouth. He was about to speak when a long, fierce howl from the darkness interrupted him. He gestured toward the sound. “So, you think it was one of them?”
Bill nodded. “I’d much rather believe that than anything else. You saw the fuss the dogs made.”
The silence was now replaced by a chorus of cries from every side. The dogs were so terrified that they huddled against the men’s legs, their fur even being singed by the heat of the fire. Bill threw more wood onto the flames before lighting his pipe.
“I think you’re a bit discouraged, Bill,” Henry said.
“I was just thinking, Henry... he’s much luckier than we are.” Bill pointed his thumb at the box they were sitting on. “When we die, we’ll be lucky if we get enough stones over our bodies to keep the wolves away.”
“But we aren't rich like him,” Henry reminded him. “Long-distance funerals are a luxury we can’t afford. I just don't understand why a man like him, a lord or something, comes to the ends of the earth. He could have lived a long life if he’d stayed home.”
Bill was about to reply when he pointed toward the wall of darkness. In the shadows, they could see several pairs of eyes gleaming like hot coals. A circle of glowing eyes had formed around their camp. Occasionally, a pair would move or vanish, only to reappear a moment later.
The dogs panicked, crawling over the men to escape the darkness. In the struggle, one dog was pushed toward the fire and yelped in pain. The commotion caused the circle of eyes to shift slightly, but the predators soon settled back into their positions.
“It’s a tragedy we’re out of ammunition,” Bill sighed as they prepared their bed.
“How many cartridges do you have left?” Henry asked.
“Only three,” Bill replied. “I wish I had three hundred. I’d show those creatures what’s what!” He shook his fist at the glowing eyes. “I wish this cold would break. It’s been fifty below for weeks. I honestly wish this trip was over and we were safe at the fort playing cards.”
Henry grunted and crawled into the blankets. As he began to drift off, Bill’s voice woke him.
“Say, Henry, if that extra one came in and took a fish, why didn't the dogs attack it? That’s what’s bothering me.”
“You’re worrying too much, Bill,” Henry replied sleepily. “Just go to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
The men slept heavily, side by side. As the fire died down, the circle of eyes drew closer. Once, the dogs grew so loud that Bill woke up and added more wood to the fire. As the flames brightened, the eyes retreated. Bill counted the huddling dogs, rubbed his eyes, and looked again.
“Henry,” he whispered. “Oh, Henry.”
Henry groaned. “What is it now?”
“Nothing,” Bill replied. “Only... there are seven of them again. I just counted.”
Henry answered with a grunt that soon turned into a snore.
In the morning, Henry woke first and hurried his companion out of bed. It was six o’clock and still dark. While Henry prepared breakfast, Bill began to pack the sled.
“Henry,” Bill called out suddenly. “How many dogs did we have?”
“Six,” Henry answered.
“Wrong!” Bill shouted.
“Is it seven again?” Henry asked.
“No, it’s five. One is gone.”
“What?” Henry cried angrily, dropping the cooking gear to count them. “You’re right, Bill. Fatty is gone.”
“They must have swallowed him alive,” Bill said. “He was always a fool, but I didn't think he’d be stupid enough to walk right into them.”
“The others wouldn't do it,” Henry agreed. “You couldn't drive them away from the fire with a club.”
And that was the only tribute paid to the dead dog—a short conversation on the Northland trail, more than many a man would receive in that frozen wilderness.