?—?Some fine mutton here, gentlemen. Flank meat off a tebay. I wouldn’t pass this up if I were you.
It was then I realized Nat’aaggi was no longer with us. I was sure she had followed us into the trees.
Tillman asked how can we trust the Old Man when he has tried to kill us more times than not.
?—?Not to worry. He says he’s not so hungry as he used to be, Samuelson said & roared with laughter.
It was not a comforting answer, yet our hunger was greater than our mistrust.
We joined Samuelson at the fire. He cut away pieces of the meat, handed them to each of us. The meat fell apart in my mouth, smoky, warm, roasted to a crust on the outside, rare & juicy inside. I don’t know that anything has ever tasted so good.
The other men were similarly ravenous. We took every portion handed us. When the meat was gone, I apologized to the Old Man for our greed, explained that for many days we had eaten only flour paste & strands of rabbit meat.
The Old Man waved off my words, pointed to a nearby tree. In the darkness I could just make out two shoulders & a rib cage hanging from a branch.
?—?He says he’s got plenty to share.
We consumed most of a side of sheep tonight. We ate until our stomachs were distended. Roasted more meat. Sprawled by the fire in a stupor. The Old Man sat on his heels, watched us.
I asked how he arrived here.
He knew my words because he responded without Samuelson’s translation, but he spoke in a native tongue I could not make out.
?—?He says the same as us. He walked.
How did he outpace us?
?—?He doesn’t carry a pack full of metal & tools. Nightfall doesn’t stop him. He follows game trails, because the animals know the easiest way.
It unnerved me to imagine the Old Man creeping past us in the dark of the canyon while we slept.
Why does he follows us this way?
?—?He says you are wrong. We follow him.
The Old Man nodded towards the forest.
?—?He wants the girl to come out of hiding so she can eat something.
I called to Nat’aaggi, then whistled for Boyo. The dog ran into the camp first, the woman followed more cautiously.
The Old Man threw a leg bone to the dog, then held up a piece of roasted meat to the woman. She did not move towards it.
?—?It’s all right, Tillman said. —?It’s just tebay. Tebay.
She knew what kind of meat it was. Something else made her distrustful.
Now we are all well fed, even the dog with its bone by the fire. The men have taken out their sleeping bags, retreated under nearby spruce boughs that will keep off rain & snow.
As grateful as I am for the Old Man’s apparent generosity, still I question his intentions. I take first watch. As I write here in this journal, he eyes me from under his black hat.
An oddity, to be sure. Two combs so similar that I cannot deny they are exact replicas of each other. How would the Old Man come in possession of it? Why offer it to me in trade?
The scoundrel crept through the dark, sat cross-legged beside me in the firelight , leaned into me as if we were old comrades. By the firelight, he reached inside his coat for a small sack made of a peculiar, blackish hide. As he opened it, I recognized its form?—?the sack was sewn from the dried & leathery webbed foot of a large waterfowl, with the toe joints & black nails still intact. He opened the sack, turned away slightly as if shielding a secret. He first pulled out an enamel button, then a few coins, the tooth of some beast, an amber agate, until he came up with what he sought. He closed his hand around it, reached towards the dull glow of the campfire, then, like a conjuror, revealed the prize. A silver hair comb. I took it from him. The same size, shape, the same fern frond engravings. If it weren’t for the missing teeth, the tarnish & gouging as if it had been left out in the weather for many seasons, I could almost swear it is Sophie’s.
I gave it back. What use could I have for it?
?—?He wants to trade you for chocolate, Samuelson said from beneath a tree. I had thought him asleep, his fur cap pulled down over his eyes.
I said there is no chocolate left.
?—?He says Tillman still has some in his pack.
In its ruined state, what would I want with the comb? Tillman is annoyed to give up his last ration of chocolate?—?he saved it to share with us in desperate times. Though I think he is most angry that the Old Man had snooped in his pack.
I cannot think why I agreed to the trade. Only that it bothered me, letting the mischief-maker keep the comb in his shaman’s pouch.
It’s not only chocolate he is after. The Old Man would not leave Nat’aaggi be?—?he ran his fingers down her hair, whispered in her ear, stroked the otter fur she wears across her shoulders. She did her best to ignore him.
?—?Why does he pester her so? Tillman asked.
Samuelson says the Old Man is a lecher.
?—?From what I hear tell, he’s got wives scattered thither & yon. Seems he’d like another, at least for tonight.
Tillman moved to box the Old Man. I advised him to let the girl settle her own affairs.