The Maze (18 page)

“Five Fingers and an arm and a leg can't keep us from our pot of gold now, King. We're a couple hundred miles—that's all we are—from staking our claim. We're going to be millionaires!”

Jason was sure he saw a grin on the husky's beautiful face. King barked once, twice.

“Yes, sir. We'll split everything down the middle. Fifty-fifty.”

Back on the river, Jason yelled “Watch our smoke!” at the top of his lungs, then paddled down the rightmost of the Five Fingers. He felt the sudden acceleration as the canoe dropped swiftly toward a train of foaming waves. The trick was to stay dead center and not let the swirling eddies on either side grab him.

The bow met the first wave head-on, and rose high as it sliced cleanly through. Jason paddled hard, careful not to lose momentum, as the canoe dropped into a trough. It rose with ice cakes on both sides onto a wave that broke over the bow and drenched him, all the way back at the stern, with icy spray. Steady!

Two more waves and they'd shot through. The rapids of the upper Yukon were all behind them. Jamie and her father came to mind; they'd paddled their canoe through this same rapid. Had they picked the same channel? Were they already working their claim, filling gunnysacks with nuggets?

Below Five Fingers the country opened up again and
the river meandered among dozens of islands, some half a mile or more in length. He stayed in the channel with the most current and the least ice. The bare bushes along the eastern shore were flecked with red.

Wild roses, he realized. Those red specks must be rose hips, the fruit Jamie had told him about, that could prevent scurvy. He knew a little about scurvy—sailors were prone to it because of their diet. It could make your teeth fall out. It could cripple you, it could even kill you.

Jason landed and went to take a look, then got a sack and started picking. He'd better take the time, he thought. Tomatoes and limes and such might not be available in Dawson City. A present for Abe and Ethan; he'd make tea drinkers of them.

He filled a sack, returned to the canoe and stowed it, and started on a second. This time he worked his way farther downstream and away from the river. He was finding rose hips almost half an inch in diameter. King was keeping an eye on him from a sunny clearing by the shore. It was a crisp day and the sky was a hard blue. His breath made a cloud of frost every time he breathed out.

Suddenly he became aware of splashes of crimson in the snow ahead. A few more steps, and he realized he was looking at a blood trail…and moose tracks. The blood looked fresh. Was it from a bull gored in a mating battle?

Here was a chance to present his brothers with a substantial amount of meat. With the rapids behind him, his canoe could float at least a hindquarter.

Jason quickly returned to the canoe for the rifle.
“King,” he called, and the husky ran to join him. At the moose trail, the husky's nose caught the scent of blood and the fur along his spine stood straight up.

The trail led no farther than a hundred yards, in and out of the alders and the willows. Suddenly, there was the moose, not forty feet in front of him, standing broadside in a small clearing. Six feet tall at the shoulders, no doubt, this bull was even more massive than the ones he'd seen earlier. The moose was bleeding from a wound in the neck and one behind the front shoulder.

Could these be bullet holes?
he wondered. If so, someone must be tracking it. An Indian? A Klondiker?

Jason turned around, saw no one. When he looked back, the moose was gone.

He followed the blood trail through the trees, more cautiously now, rifle at the ready. If he were to finish the moose, it would be a kindness to the animal and helpful to the hunter who was tracking it.

When he glimpsed the moose a few minutes later, it lay fallen in the snow, inert as stone. He wasn't going to have to shoot it after all.

Jason set the rifle against a tree and walked close. The antlers were so broad, he might not be able to touch from one side to the other with arms outspread.

Suddenly, the moose blinked and a hind leg twitched. It was still alive! Before Jason had time for a second thought, the moose was on its feet and charging.

No time to reach the rifle. Only time to run. He saw
King look over his shoulder at the monster, saw the husky running too.

Jason tripped and went down hard. Instantly he was back up but just then the bull rammed him from behind, its antlers like the cowcatcher on a locomotive. All at once the moose threw its rack up and back, and Jason went with them high into the air and above the animal.

Involuntarily, his arms shot out to break his fall and he grabbed hold of the ends of the antlers. He was in the palms of the antlers with his legs along the animal's long, tapered head, and the moose was trying to shake him off. He wrapped his legs around the moose's head and clung with all his strength.

Hang on
, he told himself.
If he shakes me loose, if he gores me with his antlers, or kicks me with his hoofs, I'm dead
.

He could hear King barking. He could see the blur of the husky darting in and out.

The moose started ramming its head into the ground, trying to smash Jason into the ground. The animal was so tired that it knelt to rest, and Jason felt his own knees on the earth. His legs had lost their hold on the animal's head; all he had now was the grip of his hands on the antlers. He dared not let go.

King rushed in and tried to get under the animal's throat. The moose stood up suddenly, kicking at the husky with its front legs. King backed away, and the moose tried to shake Jason loose with wild gyrations of its head, and then to crush him into the ground.

Jason felt his legs taking a beating. The strength had gone out of his arms; he doubted he could hold on much longer. He found himself looking directly into the animal's eyes, and the smell of the animal's musk and blood was bestial. The monster was making an incongruous cooing sound.

The moose buckled to its knees once again, ramming Jason back to the earth. So far the sharp tines at the ends of the antlers hadn't pierced him; he was managing to stay cupped within the wide palms of the antlers. The animal was utterly exhausted, and so was he.

As the moose's front legs kicked forward in yet another attempt to stand, Jason felt a hoof pin one of his boots to the ground. The weight on his foot and the sudden pulling back of the monster's antlers finally ripped his hands free of their grip, and he was knocked loose.

Quicker than he thought, he saw the forelegs coming. He was being trampled in the chest by the front hoofs.

Though the wind was knocked out of him, he managed to roll over as the moose momentarily turned to face King, who was barking in a frenzy. Then he was being trampled again, this time all over his back and legs.

Jason looked over his shoulder. The moose had its head down, about to gore him, when the husky came flying. The moose turned its antlers toward the dog instead, and flung King aside like a rag doll.

A moment later the hoofs rained down again, a shot rang out, then all was darkness.