Henry Olsen - The Northland Chronicles - A Stranger North

The tension in Nathan’s face and shoulders dissipated as he nodded in agreement. Then he walked out of the tavern without another word.

“What’s with the kid?” John asked, gesturing toward the door with his head.

“He lost his dad, Ryota, to stomach cancer last year,” Pierre said. “Took the poor guy to a doctor, all the way down in Duluth, but it didn’t do any good.” Pursing his lips, the old man shook his head. “I think he holds himself responsible, even though there was nothing he could’ve done. He’s a sharp kid, but his confidence has taken quite a hit.”

John nodded, mulling it over. He grabbed his whiskey and took a sip, grimacing as it trickled down his throat.

“Should I take him with me?” he asked.

Pierre tilted his head slightly to one side and stroked his chin. “I don’t want him to get hurt … but I don’t want to see him moping around town, either. Can’t say he’s much of a fighter, but he does good work when he puts his mind to something,” he said.

“Roger that. I’ll go talk to him a bit more — make sure he knows what he’s signing up for,” John said.

“Go ahead,” Pierre replied. “I got your drink covered — you didn’t exactly get the chance to enjoy it.”

John smirked.

“I’m not sure enjoy is the word I’d choose,” he said, as he stood up and headed for the door.

***

Nathan anxiously paced back and forth in front of the Frontier View Co-op. A single oil lamp cast an orange glow on his skin. Though the Co-op was open only from early morning until dusk, the proprietor, Tom, kept a front light on for a couple hours after dark as a courtesy. The cabins in town gradually lit up, one by one. Nathan watched as light flickered through their windows.

He tapped his foot nervously. Where was John? Nathan was having second thoughts about this rescue mission. He didn’t know anything about action, combat, or war. What help would he be?

Looking down the row of cabins, he picked out his own unlit home. Its darkened windows made it stand out like a missing tooth in an otherwise perfect smile. No , he thought, I need to be strong. For Emiko’s sake as well as for my own. He suppressed his fidgety foot and stood tall — shoulders back, chest out. No turning back.

Nathan heard quiet footsteps in the distance. He watched as John slowly stepped into the lamplight, which gradually revealed his features. The reflection of the reddish-orange flame glowed in the bearded man’s eyes — the only motion on his otherwise expressionless face. Though he stood only an inch or two taller than Nathan, he carried himself like an iron giant, as though nothing could stand between him and his destination.

“Hey son, grab a seat,” he offered, pointing to the bench in front of the Co-op.

“Yes, sir,” Nathan replied.

John tilted his head slightly to one side.

“I didn’t hear you call me ‘sir’ in that dump of a bar — what changed?” he asked.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

“Why not, s — ”

“Hammersnap, son! Will you cut that out? If you’re going to be any help to me, I need you to be a partner, not a subordinate.” He paused to collect himself, then held out his hand. “The name’s John Osborne. Call me John.”

Nathan fought the urge to grimace as John’s iron grip crushed his hand.

“Nathan. Nathan Kanno.”

The wooden bench creaked as they sat down.

“So, tell me, son — what’s your weapon of choice?” John asked.

“Weapon of choice?” Nathan wondered aloud. “Ah, I use my dad’s old Remington 870.” The phrase caught him off guard. He thought of the shotgun as a tool, not a weapon.

“Solid gun,” John said, as he pantomimed raising a gun to his shoulder. “Pump action, plenty of stopping power — you’re a good hand with it?”

Nathan nodded.

“Alright. And you understand the risk involved?” John asked. “There’s no shame in having second thoughts.”

Nathan paused for a moment — no, he didn’t fully know what he was getting into, but did it matter? Nervous as he was, this was something he had to do.

“I understand,” he said.

“Good. Then let’s talk details. First things first — I’m assuming Sawbill Lake is nearby?” John asked.

“Yeah — about 10 miles north. We go there tomorrow … then what?” Nathan said.

“Then we find the kidnappers, maybe shoot a few bullets, and get your sister back,” John said.

Nathan waited for further explanation. It didn’t come.

“ That’s your plan?” he blurted out. “I could have thought of that!”

John shrugged his shoulders. “Do you have a better idea? Unless you have five grand sitting around, my plan is the only plan.”

Nathan bit the corner of his lip, then nodded in agreement. The bearded man had a point.

“Next, supplies — you have a gun,” John said, lifting his index finger. “Do you have a map of the lake?”

“I have one at home,” Nathan said. “Do you want me to go fetch it now?”

“No, it can wait until tomorrow,” John said as he held up a second finger. “How about a canoe and paddles?”

“Sure, I have an aluminum canoe sitting behind the cabin,” Nathan said. Everyone in Frontier View had a canoe, or at least had access to one. Roads and trails still guided travelers between most towns and villages, but they didn’t go everywhere. Canoeing across lakes often proved to be easier than trying to bushwhack a path through the surrounding woodland and Sawbill Lake was no exception.

“Great,” John said, raising his ring finger. “Finally, do you have a cart and a … frankenmoose?”

Did he shudder as he said that? Nathan wondered. No — must’ve been my imagination. This guy doesn’t look like he’d be afraid of anything.

“A tvapa?” Nathan asked.

“Yeah, one of those,” John said. “You have one?”

“No, but given the circumstances, I can probably borrow one from Cynthia. A cart, too.” Carrying a canoe to Sawbill Lake was out of the question. Holding a canoe over one’s shoulders and walking just one mile was hard work — ten was unthinkable.

“By the way, does their manure always smell so bad?” John asked.

Nathan thought about it a moment. “I guess you get used to it,” he said.

John shook his head and let out a deep breath. He raised his pinkie finger, then closed his hand and pumped his fist.

“Sounds like we’re set. If you have food that’s easy to carry, bring it along, but if not we can do a little hunting along the way. Pack anything else you think we’ll need for an overnight trip — try to keep it light,” he said.

Nathan rolled his eyes. Does he think I’m the pampered prince of Frontier View? “I guess that means I’ll have to leave my makeup case and pewter collection behind. Woe is me.”

To Nathan’s surprise, John grinned at the sarcasm. “You got spunk kid. I like that,” he said, pointing his finger at Nathan. Then as if thinking aloud, he added, “Though it’s always the spunky ones that want to shoot me.”

“You’ve been shot at before?” Nathan asked.

John merely chuckled in reply.

Loons over the moon! Who laughs about being shot at? Nathan wondered.

“Prepare everything on our checklist and meet here at sunup tomorrow. Not a moment later — got it?” John said.

“Got it,” Nathan replied with a nod and a tired sigh.

The bench creaked again as John stood up.

“Keep your head up, kid,” he said, as he sauntered out of the lamplight, back into the darkness.

Hours later, John rested on his unzipped sleeping bag, staring up at the glowing ceiling of his tent, illuminated by the stars and the moon. Not wanting to impose upon Cynthia, he’d set up camp in the woods on the outskirts of Frontier View. Moreover, the thick walls of a cabin dulled the senses and offered a false sense of security — through the thin nylon tent, he could detect any oncoming danger early and act accordingly.