Louis L'Amour - Last of the Breed

He had believed they did not know where he was, but over the past weeks he had seen several parties of soldiers, searching. By chance? Or had he left some clue, some indication of his passing?

Alekhin was good. He must be doubly careful.

For two days he remained away from what he had come to think of as the village, but on the third day he killed a goral and took its meat to share.

He went to the house of Baronas, but there was no one there. Disappointed, he turned to go; then he added some fuel to the fire and left the meat he had brought. He walked away into the forest.

He was deep in the forest, walking on damp leaves among the birch trees and the larch, when he saw her.

She was standing in a natural aisle among the birch and the larch. Her hood was thrown back, and a vagrant shaft of sunlight touched her blond hair. She was, he realized, a beautiful woman. Not that it mattered to him. The days were passing into weeks, and soon he would be leaving.

She came down through the forest to meet him and paused a few feet away. “You have not been to see us.”

“I built up your fire, and I left meat.”

“Thank you. We found the meat and knew it was you.” She paused. “We were not gone long.” She hesitated again. “There was a meeting.”

He waited, saying nothing. Somewhere, something stirred among the dead leaves.

“The meeting was about you. Peshkov wants you to leave. So does Rusinov. They are important men among us. My father spoke for you, and so did Yakov.

“‘Where would he go?’ Yakov asked. ‘It is the dead of winter.’

“‘No matter,’ Peshkov argued. ‘He is a danger to us all.’

“‘And we all eat meat he has killed,’ my father said.”

“I shall go soon.”

“Where will you go? Where can you go?”

“Where I was when I came to you. I shall go back to the forest.”

A wind rustled the leaves, a cold, cold wind. “My father says you may stay. It is not Peshkov who speaks for us.” A last golden leaf from an aspen fell and lodged in her hair. Joe Mack looked away. She was a woman, this one.

“How are they here? Do they keep hunting even in the cold?”

She shrugged. “Usually, no. For you, maybe. This is Zamatev this time, and it is Alekhin. This has not happened before. I think there will be some hunting but not much. Men could die out there.” She paused, considering it. “I think they will go to a few places. They will try to eliminate, to locate you. Then when spring comes, they will move.”

She paused. “There was a woman in Aldan. It was she who was directing. I do not know her.”

“A woman? What sort of woman?”

“Very attractive, someone said, but we do not know.” She looked at him. “We have ways… I mean, sometimes we can find out such things. This woman was in Aldan where the furs were sold. The man with her we know. His name is Stegman. We know him. He is KGB, or he was. He has been assigned to Colonel Zamatev, so the woman no doubt works with him, too. They were using a helicopter.”

He remembered the helicopter that had flown over him. The same one? It could be. Whoever was flying it had stopped to investigate that old building.

“At your meeting, what was decided?”

“You may stay, for the time being. Your meat has won you friends. It is very hard here in winter. In the warm times we can all get out and look for food. We plant. We gather in the forest. We do not do badly. In the winter it is very bad sometimes, and you brought us meat.”

They walked down the dim path together. There were many deadfalls, often criss-crossed, black with damp. It was treacherous walking. His eyes were busy, watching, seeking. There were few animals in the thick forest. Usually they were found closer to the streams or near clearings or open meadows. The forest was dense and, even at midday, shadowed and dim. But the days were even shorter now, the nights long and bitterly cold.

“You must talk to Yakov. His mother was from the Tungus people. They are keepers of reindeer, great travelers and hunters. They still live much as they wish, and there are many of them northeast of here. You might meet them.”

They walked on without talking. Stepping over a deadfall, her foot came down on another and slipped. She caught his arm and was astonished. “You are strong!”

“Where I lived there was much hard work, and then at school — do you know the decathlon? It requires all-around athletic skill. In college I won several meets, but lost out in the Olympic trials. I just wasn’t good enough.”

“Botev will go to Yakutsk soon. He will take furs.”

“I shall have some. Is it not far?”

“We cannot go always to the same place, and Stegman and that woman were seen in Aldan, visiting the place there. It is a danger to return now.”

“He will go alone?”

“No. Someone will go with him. They may not have to go all the way. Sometimes they meet with other trappers and trade their furs. We get less for them, but the risk is less, too.”

They lingered, neither wishing to end the moment. A cold wind moaned in the larch and spruce. “Come to see us, Joe Mack. I want you to tell me of the cities and the women.” She looked up at him. “I have been nowhere since I was a child. We hear so little here. Sometimes, on the Voice of America—”

Surprised, he asked, “You hear it here?”

“When we have batteries. There is no power. Yakov has been working on a waterwheel he hopes will generate power for us but it is far from complete.”

“I am the wrong person to tell you of the cities.” His eyes met hers and he shrugged. “I did not get around very much. Some of my people there drink too much, and I never wished to chance it.”

She laughed, but without humor. “It is a problem here, too. We hear of efforts to convince people to drink less, but so far they have not succeeded.”

“I know very little of Russia.”

“My father says it has not changed. Russia now is the same as under the Tsars. As a nation, Russians have always been suspicious of outsiders. They have always lived outside the community of nations. What is happening now in Afghanistan began long ago. Read Kipling’s ‘Kim’ again and especially some of his short stories. Nor have they ever permitted free travel in their country or allowed their people to travel freely outside of Russia. Balzac had to meet his Polish mistress in Switzerland, as travel to France was not permitted for long periods.”

“It is a pity. I have seen much beauty here, and I have seen little.”

“The Kamchatka Peninsula is magnificent. There are volcanoes, snow-covered peaks, waterfalls, and splendid forests. If it was possible, I think your people would come to see it. You are great travelers, I know.”

She shivered. “It grows colder. We shall have a bad winter, I believe.”

“They have not bothered you here?”

She shrugged. “We are far out of the way, and we do nothing to attract attention to ourselves. Wulff knows we exist, but our furs enrich him. Nevertheless, if we caused trouble he would have us all in prison or shot” She paused. “I think he only knows we exist, but does not know where and does not wish to know. Nor does he know who is here or how many.

“You see,” she looked up at him again, “we are far from anywhere. No one travels this way. Someday—”

They walked on. “Is it true that everybody in America has an automobile?”

“Some families have two or three. A car is not considered a luxury, but a necessity. Many people drive many miles to work, and someone who does not drive a car or own one is a curiosity.”

“And you?”

“I could fly a plane before I drove a car, and I would still rather fly. In the mountains where I grew up, there were no roads. Not close by, at least. My grandfather and my father did not want them, nor did they want visitors. When I left the mountains to go to school I lived with some Scottish relatives and rode in a car for the first time.”