Broken Trails (17 page)

She planned on hitting a milder trail near a snow covered meadow. There was a loop there the Fullers had dubbed Dupont Circle after the notorious traffic circle in Washington, DC, with several trails sprouting from its central path. It reiterated Lainey's spoken commands to her leaders, as they had to pay attention or go off on the wrong trail. The run might not be as hazardous as Scotch's destination, but there were some wonderful switchbacks along the route Lainey chose. The Iditarod was over a thousand miles long, and she needed to prepare her dogs for any eventuality.

After the run, she and Scotch planned to meet up at the hot springs to greet Miguel's overnighters and snack the dogs. They’d take a rest break there and bring the teams home in time for dinner.

Everything was ready. Lainey glanced over at Scotch, who stood on the runners of her sled, grinning at her expectantly. She smiled and waved back, mirroring the woman's stance. With one hand on the handlebar, Lainey crouched down to pull the snow hook, placing it in the specially made pouch at the back of the sled bag. She heard Scotch call out commands, and watched from the corner of her eye as her team pulled out of the yard.

Not wanting to be left behind, her team lunged forward, wanting to follow, barking for all they were worth. The sled skimmed sideways, still attached to the pole by the snub line, and she held the handle tightly.

"Ready!" she called. Cochise and Sholo, her leads, pulled forward, straightening the line of dogs. Lainey released the last mooring, and yelled, "Let's go!"

Free to run, the team shot forward, tails wagging and tongues lolling. Within minutes, they were out of the yard, the clamor of those left behind fading in the distance. The dogs always went quiet when they began running, and Lainey sighed at the silence broken only by panting dogs and the swish of a sled going over snow. This was so much better than with an ATV. No running motors, just her and the dogs and the wilderness. Lainey had worked in the bush of many different countries, always enjoying the chance to be alone with nature. It was with some delight that she realized she would be afforded an even deeper sense of solitude on this race.

Up ahead, she barely caught sight of Scotch as she rounded a bend. Small wonder considering the distance. Cochise and Sholo were about twenty feet in front of Lainey, and there had to be a thirty foot gap between them and Scotch. That was another thing about sledding; she could be mushing with all three Fullers and rarely catch a glimpse of any of them unless they passed one another.

The dogs were going at a good clip; Lainey figured they were running at about ten miles per hour. That was to be expected since they were all well rested and eager. A couple of more trails would pass and she would cut off this one and onto another, leaving Scotch to her breakneck roller coaster ride.

The trailhead came up, its entry marked by a fluttering red strip of cloth. As Cochise came abreast of it, Lainey called, "Haw!" The husky and his all black partner automatically turned left and onto the path. Behind them, the swing dogs - Montana and Meshindi - followed the smooth arc, leading the rest of the team forward and into the turn. Dablo, Bast, Tecumseh, and Heldig plodded dutifully along. When the sled arrived at the turn, Jonah and Aziz, the burly wheel dogs, put their formidable strength into it, yanking the sled onto the now trail with relative ease.

"Good dogs!" Lainey called, watching ears prick back to hear her praise. She grinned against the chill wind along her cheeks. Had anyone told her she would one day relish being in below freezing temperatures on the back of a dog sled, she would have laughed in their faces.

All in all, it had been a good idea to arrive at the end of June. It had given Lainey an opportunity to become acclimated to the cooler temperatures and gradual change of seasons. The weather did not affect her nearly as bad as it had in March, coming from sweltering sun to icy expanses. With Thom Fuller's help, she had purchased the proper arctic gear, as well, and she rode her sled with little discomfort. Native mukluks covered her feet, and she wore bibbed snowpants recommended for mountaineering. Her parka was a pullover, like Scotch's, the lack of zippers and snaps giving added protection as wind and snow had no points of entry. Helen had sewn an extra pocket high up on the right side, its size perfect to accommodate a hand warmer nestled against Lainey's ribs.

Toasty and warm, she watched the world open up as the team pulled into Dupont Circle. Each of the half dozen trails were marked with a different colored flag. The one she wanted flickered green, but Lainey allowed her team to pass it without command. There had been another spate of snow the night before, and the dogs took the opportunity to bite at snow drifts as they passed quenching their thirst and cooling off. She looked over the lot of them, careful to note their body language, searching for anything out of the ordinary to indicate discomfort or injury.

The dogs ran well, loping back around the circle. Sholo glanced over his shoulder as they passed their point of entry. Lainey could imagine what he was thinking - You brought us here. Where the hell are we going? She laughed aloud and called the command when they got to the proper trailhead. "Gee!"

Like a well-oiled machine, the team turned right, leaving the meadow for a run through dense brush. Here Lainey paid more attention to her surroundings as trees crowded close. Sweepers were a real danger, limbs hanging low enough to knock the musher from the sled. The close confines caused the dogs to slow a bit, and Lainey hopped off the runners, trotting behind the sled to lighten the load. Up ahead she saw orange paint on a tree trunk, indicating the first switchback.

Sholo and Cochise easily navigated the trail as it doubled back on itself. Of course, they had the benefit of years of experience on the paths around the kennel. They ran out of sight, and Lainey watched the rest of her team disappear around the bend. When the swing dogs were the last, she jumped back on the runners, leaning hard to the left. The sled jerked left, the momentum forcing her right like the end of a whip, but her preparation kept the her upright and on course. Exhilarated, she stepped off the sled and ran some more, her breath steaming in front of her. The dogs, tails wagging, continued on to the next hairpin turn.

After the third turn, Lainey noticed the team's attention diverted from the trail. Their ears pricked toward the right, and she peered in that direction, unable to see anything through the undergrowth. Maybe they smelled a rabbit or another dog team in the area. In any case, their divided attention became her concern. She kept close eye on the dogs. One or two of them were young and untrained enough that a romp through the woods in search of an elusive rabbit would be quite entertaining. Something like that had the potential to either cause a mutiny in the ranks or some major damage to the sled and gear should they make a run for it. Lainey reached into the sled for the snow hook, hanging it over the back of the sled bag for easy accessibility.

Pulling through the next turn, Lainey heard Sholo and Cochise barking before she rounded the bend. The sled jerked forward as the dogs pulled with more enthusiasm, more of her team taking up the call. The dogs had never acted this way before. What could have them in such a tumult? Lainey felt the cold tickle of apprehension and adrenaline pumped through her veins. She leaned into the turn, and the thing setting off the dogs came into view.

A bull moose stood near the next switchback, right in the center of the trail. He looked huge, the velvet covering of his antlers long since rubbed off, revealing heavy bone. Lainey knew from lessons with Scotch that rutting season was over. The bulls had finished their annual mating confrontations and were now back to regaining the weight they had lost. The dogs had caught this one stripping bark off a tree that quivered nearby. He had turned from his task to glare at them, but did not seem daunted by being out numbered.

Lainey noted all the details in split seconds, the hormones flushing her system giving her a crisp, clear image. She saw a snort of steam rise from the moose's flared nostrils, saw his shoulders give a shake, the coarse hair bristling, and the slight change of stance as he moved the weight off one of his front legs. A distant part of her mind regretted there was no time to get a decent photograph; she had left her camera in the cabin.

Sholo and Cochise were almost upon the interloper.

"Whoa!" she bellowed. Time slowed more as her feet left the runners to stand on the brake and drag between them. The first was a metal bar with two hooks that dug into the snow, the second a rubber mat with bolts on the underside. She held on to the handlebars one handed, simultaneously pulling the snow hook from its temporary place. Squatting, she forced the tines into the trail beside her, then stood to stomp it down.

The dogs pulled up short, their clamor interrupted by a collective grunt as their chest harnesses held them back. The shock cord did its duty, and none of the animals were injured by the abrupt stop. They now barked joyously at the interesting obstacle in their path, tails wagging in furious anticipation of more fun.

Her leaders were less than thirty feet from the moose, riding high on the exhilaration of their comrades, telling the bull off for blocking their trail. Knowing the true danger, Lainey wildly looked about her for something sturdy enough to tie her snub line to. Her heart sank when she realized she would have to get off the brake to reach the nearest tree. The sled jolted as the dogs tried to surge forward, and she stamped harder on the brake and hook. Tears of frustration and stress stung her eyes as she returned her attention to the moose, praying he would decide to leave the trail.

The bull eyed the noisy gathering and snorted again. He considered his options, and Lainey could almost see the thoughts on his big ugly face. His tormenters did not close in, and he was in a foul mood from a combination of their noise and his hunger. Obviously he had the upper hoof, so to speak.

Horrified, Lainey watched the bull step forward, her dogs barking louder in response. His next step was quicker, and he dropped his head, preparing to charge, his formidable antlers lunging toward them.

"Hard gee!" she screamed. "Sholo! Hard gee!"

Her voice, high and panicked, pierced the ruckus. Amazingly, Sholo tugged to the right, yanking Cochise with him. As the moose rushed the team the leaders began to double back toward the sled.

No longer needed to stay on the brake, Lainey scooped up the snow hook, yelling at the dogs to hurry, hurry! The bull had a head start, however, and Cochise yelped as the deadly antlers tossed him into the air.

The carefully regimented line of dogs fell apart. Sholo continued to pull, Montana and Meshindi doing what they were trained to do. Unfortunately, that meant all of Lainey's dogs were moving forward, into the turn, and closing with an angry moose. The team slowed, Sholo dragging Cochise's limp body along as the wild animal made another lunge, tangling his antlers in tuglines.

The pistol!

Lainey dove over the handlebars, unzipping the sled bag with clumsy hands. It took forever before she rooted it out. She knelt in the sled, the cold heavy steel of the .44 in her hand. There came a moment of terror when she could not reach the trigger, and she swore, ripping her mitten off with her teeth.

Her first attempt did nothing and she stared blankly at the weapon. The safety! The safety's on! With a quick flick of her finger, she released the safety catch and fired.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE SOUND OF a gun echoed across the wilderness, and Scotch cocked her head. Hunting season was over for most game. Besides, had there been hunters in the area, someone surely would have mentioned seeing them during the many evening visitations winter always seemed to draw. The only people with guns in the immediate area were she, Miguel, and Lainey.

Another shot rang out, and Scotch felt her heart jump in her chest. With hunters out of the equation, the only reason someone would shoot a firearm would be in defending him or herself. Providing Miguel's tour followed the usual route, they were much too far away for that to be them. Those shots had to have come from Lainey. It had been like pulling teeth to get her to carry a pistol in the first place, something dire must have happened for her to shoot it.

Scotch scanned the trail ahead of her, seeing in her mind the paths that branched away. Her team had yet to reach their destination; the creek bed was several miles from the kennel. She knew where Lainey had headed, now she had to find a way to get there. Shaking her head with a grimace, she realized her only route would be too roundabout and delay her arrival at the switchbacks. All the nearest side trails moved away from Lainey's position.

She called, "Whoa!" and put on the brakes. As soon as her team halted, Scotch jumped from her sled and ran to the head of the line. She grabbed the collars of her lead dogs, Cleatis and Sukita, and brought them around. The rest of the team followed until they faced back the way they had come. Muscling the sled about, she popped the snow hook when everything was ready and yelled, "Let's go! Get up!"

The dogs happily trotted along at a brisk pace per Scotch's command. She heard no more gunshots, but that did little to ease her mind. What could have coerced Lainey to use the pistol? Scotch was not even sure Lainey knew how to use the thing. She had flat out refused to do more than listen to a general run through about the weapon before putting it in her sled bag with a distasteful expression. Only Scotch's threat to terminate their contract made Lainey accept the gun as part of her racing gear.

They were not moving fast enough. "Get up!" she called again. "Let's go!" Her team put in a little more effort, but she knew it would not last for long. This speed was primarily for sprints, not extensive runs. She fought the urge to jump off and run with them, knowing they were sliding along faster than her feet could carry her, but feeling an overwhelming need to do something to get there faster.

Anxiety raced through her as she conjured up all manner of scenarios, none of them pretty. As the visions ran through her mind, she gave the commands to get them to Dupont Circle. Several minutes passed until they pulled into the meadow, and she wasted no time getting the dogs on the proper trail. In the distance, she heard a snow machine nearing, and felt a vague sense of relief at the added assistance on the way.