Broken Trails

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.

The switchbacks were fairly hazardous on the best of days. Going at breakneck speed increased the danger of tangles and falls, but Scotch and her team had extensive experience with the even more perilous trails of the Iditarod trail and the Yukon Quest. Still, she barely managed to remain upright as the dogs took the fourth turn. Jubilant barking met her ears and she barely registered Lainey’s team before she stood on the brakes and halted her dogs beside her sled.