The Lighthouse Road(40)

An hour after he'd arrived at the Laplander's, Samuel had the Ovcharkas loaded on his sled. His own dogs were uneasy in the behemoths' company, but he soothed his team and fed them before they started home. The Ovcharkas, in their leather muzzles, housed in chicken-wire crates, were magisterial in their silence, tolerant— Samuel thought— to the point of spookiness.



The Laplander sent twenty pounds of dried coho salmon with Samuel, and the boy stopped at sunset to feed the dogs. He built a fire at the mouth of the Big Rock River and melted snow. The frozen fish cooled the boiling water promptly. Samuel lifted the tops from the crates and lowered a bowl of potage into each. When he removed their muzzles and watched the Ovcharkas eat, he could hardly believe their voracity. They slobbered the water up even as they chewed the fish so that in no more than two minutes the black dogs had finished their feast. And as quickly as they ate they curled back up, in unison, to hold in silent abeyance a ferocity Riverfish could as much as feel in his hands and feet. When the huskies were done with their own hunks of venison, Samuel clucked his tongue and drove out onto the lake.



He ran all night and all day and with his spent team passed through Gunflint and turned up the ice road an hour before sunset. As Samuel pulled into camp and let the Ovcharkas out of their crates one at a time, each laid an enormous turd that stank of fish. It took all of Samuel's strength to hold the dogs steady on their leads. One by one and according to their rank, his own dogs took turns stretching their traces taut in order to sniff the piles of shit.



Despite the frigid evening, Trond Erlandson hurried from the wanigan when he saw Samuel Riverfish. As he crossed the open commons of the camp, he met the bull cook, whom he directed to the stable. By the time Trond reached the dogs he had already pulled two twenty-dollar banknotes from his pocket and offered them to Samuel.



"You said twenty dollars, plus five if I met your deadline. This is too much," Samuel said.



Trond didn't respond, only went to the bitch and offered the back of his hand. He had no fear of the dogs. Satisfied she would allow it, Trond tousled the scruff of black-and-white fur behind her ear. He repeated the same greeting with the other dog. Finally he stood and turned to Samuel.



"Lord Christ, they are small mountains."



Samuel agreed.



"How was it with them?"



"They rode on that sled as if bred for it," Samuel said. "They never made a sound."



Trond's eyes widened as if he understood perfectly. He returned again to the bitch and knelt before her. He offered his hand for the second time but she did not so much as sniff it. Instead she lowered her head and leaned toward him. He ran his hands up and down her ribs, felt the muscle in her forelegs, lifted her face by the chin so he could see into her black eyes. She held his gaze for a moment, then cowered. Trond slowly removed the leather muzzle from her snout and let her lick the back of his hand.



He walked over to the other dog. When he removed his muzzle the dog's lips quivered and he began to bare his teeth, but Trond clubbed him on the nose and the dog put his head down. The foreman knelt before the dog and raised its face to meet his own and said out loud, "You stay mean when you're staked out there. You let me know when the wolves are coming."



By then the bull cook and stable keeper were crossing the open yard. Each of them carried a length of chain over their shoulders, and when they reached Trond and Samuel they stopped short to take in the Ovcharkas.



"We could use those dogs to rest the horses," the stable keeper said. "If it came to that."



Trond smiled. "I want this cur out in the paddock. Stake him under the ridge. And make sure his kennel door is turned away from the wind. Keep her near the stable. And feed them."



"Feed them what?" the bull cook asked.



Trond looked down at the Ovcharkas. He fed his St. Bernard scraps from the kitchen. These dogs needed square meals, though. This he could see. "Ask the ladies in the kitchen for whatever they've got leftover. I reckon these dogs aren't particular." He turned to the stable keeper, "Tell the teamsters to carry rifles tomorrow. See what they can hunt."



Trond turned to Samuel Riverfish. "You've done well," he said. " Those extra dollars are a gratuity. Your father will hear about this. Now, go get some rest. I can see you need it."



Samuel thanked him and left with his dogs.



So the dogs stood sentinel in the dark— the bitch on twelve feet of chain near the horse barn, the dog staked out at the end of the paddock— each of them full on a gallon of sowbelly stew. That night, for the first time in a week, there was no wolf song to serenade the jacks. Thea, waiting for the howl, could not sleep in its absence.