Hound began to bark outside as Will ran a finger over the big map on the wall, tracing the outline of an area not yet covered in red cross hatching. He paused to listen as the old dog barked from his station on the little front porch, Hound barked for many reasons. This was not the anxious sound that told of a bear or the excited laugh that greeted a moose or deer, nor the teasing bark for a ground squirrel. For a moment Will thought he might be bored, Hound had a very special bark when he was bored and barking was another way of passing time, but that wasn’t it either.

He went over to the small window to look outside and check; he always checked when Hound barked now for he remembered his first run in with a bear all too well. It had been the first year that he had stayed here in the little cabin and Hound had been barking fit to burst. Will had yanked open the door to yell at the dog to keep quiet only to be face to face with a young black bear that was investigating the cabin for food. It was debatable which of them moved quicker, Will in slamming the door shut, or the startled bear which high tailed it for the safety of the forest.

He caught a glimpse of movement low down in the scrub of dogwoods that were slowly encroaching on his patch of land, a flash of disappearing brownish fur, maybe a young bear. Cautiously he opened the door and looked both ways along the raised porch, before emerging to greet the old dog as it walked stiffly over to him, his once jet black coat now flecked with grey, the big tail wagging slowly.
“Anyone you know Hound?” he asked the dog warmly, stroking the broad back.
Hound looked over his right shoulder and gave a low wuff! towards the trees.

“Reckon we should take a stroll down to the river.” Will mused eying the September sun as it dipped towards the horizon at a little after six.
Soon they would pass the equinox and the northern winter would close in like a white wall, for the long dark months. Warm evening walks now would help stave off the cabin fever of the short harsh days when the only illumination seemed to come from the northern lights, colder yet more beautiful than city neon.
“Yeah, lets go.”

He slipped the securing chain from Hound and the dog happily paced him as he strode out down the track, past the old red Ford truck that had more rust showing than paint these days, a job for another day, and into the tall trees. The air amongst the trees was a little chill but that helped keep the mosquitos and blackfly down, not that Will noticed their bites so much anymore. The tall pines ended abruptly at the edge of the shingle bank that stood three metres above the stony riverbed and the thickets of willow and alder that had sprung up where the river hadn’t flooded for a few years. The leaves were turning to straw yellow as the first frosts nipped them at night and they made a colourful montage with the ruddy stems of the dogwoods whose leaves had begun to drop.
He stopped a couple of metres back from the clear rushing water and slowly took in the tranquil evening while Hound happily snuffled amongst the rocks and stones, taking the air in his own canine way.

His eyes came to rest on the patchwork of golden leaved aspens and dark lodgepole pines that carpeted the land on the far shore.
“Elle,” he whispered to the unheeding rush of wind and water.

Hound gave his ‘Hi’ bark and the moment was broken. Will twisted around to see two men emerging from the willow scrub with rods in their hands, both raised a hand in salute.
“Hi Shanks” the taller called out.
“Den.” Will responded with a friendly wave of his own. “Jim.”
Hound had trotted up to the pair and enjoyed the fuss they made of him, as well he might, for it had been Jim that had given the dog to Will, ‘Shanks’, over four years back in part payment for help with his tax return.
“Not fishing?” Denis Two Hats queried him.
“Not tonight, just enjoying the sun.”
“Heh, you gotta get stores laid in cityboy, winter’s comin’,” Denis Two Hats laughed back. “can’t eat them tax forms.”
Will smiled at the joke, it had been the generosity of folks like Den and Jim that had seen him through the lean days of his first winter when he had little money and no woodcraft to catch his own food.

This year he had plenty of food stocked up in the cellar he had dug below the cabin, dried fish, pemmican made from local berries and meat, cured cuts of moose and deer, even tins of fruit and a few luxuries laid by.
“You’re thinkin’ one last hike mebbe.” Jim Grey Crow said shrewdly.
Will nodded, but then shook his head and dug his hands deep in his pockets.
“Too close to winter, first snow can’t be far off.” He answered, giving the distant clouds a jerk of his chin.
“Heh, you’re getting good at weather.” Denis Two Hats said with a wrinkly smile. “Snow for sure.”
“I listen to the news,” Will fibbed, but secretly pleased that his assessment had been right, the scent of snow was in the air.

“There a bear sniffing around town?” he asked them as they set down their rods and prepared their bait.
“No bear, what did he tell you?” Jim Grey Crow responded nodding at Hound as he snuffled amongst the stones.
“Not sure,” Will said slowly, “wasn’t a bear bark, nor moose.” He shrugged, Hound talked real clear to Jim Grey Crow, maybe he barked in Cree.
“You listen to him Shanks, he’ll tell you right, you listen to him.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Will nodded.

“Now shake them legs of yorn and take yourself off if you aint fishing.” Denis Two Hats admonished him lightly, “Don’t want them heavy white feet scaring all the fish away.”
“Sure Den, sure,” he laughed and began to make his way, noisily, across the dry river stones.
He whistled to Hound and the dog trotted after him, limping a little on the uneven ground.
“I gotta listen to you Hound,” he said loudly to the dog, “so you bark loud and clear okay?”
Hound gave a loud wuff! in response.

There was the sound of dry laughter behind him that faded into the still evening air; Will smiled, such little chance meetings had been a rarity in the hustle and bustle of Toronto, here they were the social glue of the little northern community. He walked confidently back along the deeply shadowed track, his feet knew every tree root and tricky little dip in its surface after so many walks down to the river and back. It was that familiarity that stopped him. Even though he didn’t see the object, his foot ‘knew’ that it shouldn’t be there. Stooping down he picked up the wayward thing and peered at it, a little bag made of soft leather, closed with a frayed rawhide thong. Jim or Will could have dropped it but, this was simple and unadorned, functional, whereas his friends had much finer pieces decorated with tribal motifs.
“Now there’s a thing,” he mused as Hound sniffed at the bag. “I reckon the owner will be along for this.”

He carried the pouch back to his shack, retied the rawhide and looped it over a nail set in one of the front porch posts, gave it a little pat and then went inside to cook his meal. With the dusk slowly dwindling into night Will stepped out into the little clearing to look up into the dark sky.  A few stars winked through the ragged leading edge of the advancing clouds, the first snows could be tonight. He checked on Hound as he lay inside his little dog house, snug out of the cool air, his big tail slowly thumping the timbers as Will stroked his head.
“Night Hound,”

A little later he heard Hound give a couple of ‘Hi’ barks, that would be Jim and Denis returning from the river, before the quiet of the woodlands returned and he turned on the radio. The grumbling white noise of the city had been his constant companion for over forty years, but here the silence could be just a little too much for him at times, it wasn’t easy to adapt to the pervasive quiet, punctuated by spooky night noises.

He came awake with a start, Hound was barking that strange bark again. He listened for a few moments before deciding to investigate. The flashlamp beam shot through the dark cabin and Will pulled on his boots before he shrugged into his big mackinaw and approached the front door with clumping feet. If there was a bear outside the noise would alert it and it would make off with no harm done.
“What’s up Hound?” he asked the dog as he padded across the planks to him, his breath steaming in the torchlight. “a racoon?”

Hound looked round towards the dark line of trees and gave that distinctive bark again. Following the direction of the dogs gaze Will swung his light that way, and for a moment a pair of eyes reflected the light, before winking out and leaving nothing but leaves and stems in the torch beam.
Hound whined quietly.
“Well, whatever, it’s gone now.” Will commented and patted Hound on the back. “Off to bed.”
Will returned to his own bed and pulled the warm covers over him, he could investigate further tomorrow morning.

Dawn’s light brought no news of the nocturnal visitor for the cold ground was hidden beneath a good dusting of clean white powder. Will went to look for any tracks but he knew even a good hunter would be hard pushed to find anything under the snow layer, no big deal he would find out sooner or later what animal the visitor was. As he turned back to the shack he was aware that something was not the same, he was puzzling over the discrepancy for a few minutes until he spotted it. The pouch was gone. So the visitor had most likely been human, but it hadn’t been Hound’s ‘Hi’ bark that had awakened him, he scratched his stubbly chin, a regular mystery.

The snow had almost gone by the afternoon but by then Will had other things to occupy him as old Hector McDermott had come across seeking his advice on a financial matter. Hector was not a man to be hurried and he wanted to go through every possible eventuality of every possible combination of investments. Some said he was canny, others a skinflint. To Will he was a welcome visitor and a chance to exercise some of his old talents in money management, so he took as much time as Hector wanted.

After Hector had gone Will sat on his little porch with Hound beside him, both content to watch and wait a little longer as the air chilled into night, the dusk lingering salmon pink and orange on the high clouds. The last light was fading when Hound raised his head and gave that funny bark again, rousing Will from his quiet reverie of the first stars peeking between the grey sheets of cirrus.
He laid a hand on the dog’s back and looked into the bush where Hound’s attention was fixed. It was in shadow too deep to penetrate but he had the feeling of eyes upon him. He stayed still; an animal would likely come out if he didn’t make a move. A tiny movement caught his eye, a lighter patch of darkness detached itself from the forest, maybe a metre or so high, he couldn’t be sure. Hound’s tail made a soft thumping as it wagged uncertainly against the porch timbers, he could feel the tension in the old dog’s back, but was it fear or excitement?

“Easy,” he breathed, trying to pierce the gloom with his tired eyes.
The movement was coming closer, stealthily, steadily. Hound barked loudly and leapt up and off the porch to bound towards the distant shape only to be brought up short by the chain with a sharp metallic snap. The shape was gone in the confusion and Hound was left whining and pulling pathetically at the chain.
“They don’t want to play Hound,” Will said as he got to his feet stiffly, “come on back now, bed.”

With Hound back in his little house Will paused for a few moments to scan the darkness, somewhere out there was a bold little beast, maybe a young bear, he would have to be wary. Inside the shack he reached down the heavy rifle that hung in brackets beside the door, an old .303, enough power to stop a bear. He checked its little magazine, three rounds, breach clear. He replaced the rifle satisfied that if it was an unwelcome bear he could either scare it off or put it down.

Will turned in and lay awake for a while, mentally ticking off the things he needed to do before the winter set in properly. Some petrol for the jenny, some more tinned food, check the hung meats, some spare batteries for the little GPS unit, see if there were any bargain winter clothes to be had at the store now the hunters were heading south. His thoughts slowed and clouded into sleep and if Hound did bark during the night it didn’t disturb him so by dawn he had forgotten about the mysterious visitor and ate his breakfast before setting off for town.

He was just putting the dishes in the sink to wash them when Hound sounded off again. Going to the window he looked out and was astonished by the sight of a small figure clad in oddments of fur as it moved from shade into a brief pool of bright sunlight. Hound was at the end of his chain, straining to approach the stranger, who warily circled away from the old dog. Will opened the door and stood there in the morning sun, staring at the visitor who had frozen at his sudden appearance. Even shading his eyes he couldn’t see the face against the brightness but the hair framing the hidden features was very dark almost black.

“Hi.” Will called out assuming that this was a local Indian youth getting back to his roots.
The other remained stock still and Will ventured a couple of steps out onto his porch.
“Morning” he said and waved his left hand at the youth, “come on in if you’ve a mind.”
Something changed in that moment for the figure seemed to stand a little taller then abruptly broke away and vanished in a flashing run through the sunbeams back into the scrub and the forest beyond.
“Well, call again.” Will sighed and was about to go back indoors when Hound gave one last bark, the odd bark.

Going across the rough grass he stooped down where the figure had stood and was surprised to find that the mud held a small footprint, a bare footprint. No one went barefoot in the backwoods, Will’s pulse picked up, he suddenly wanted to know more about this odd visitor. Maybe this was the one who had dropped the pouch, the one who had been coming back night after night. He hurried back to the shack lifted his jacket off the hook shouldered his pack and then grabbed up the rifle before shutting the door firmly behind him.
“Take care of the shop Hound.” He called out, leaving the unhappy dog yelping and whining at the end of his chain.

The trail angled away from town heading roughly northeast on an animal track that led down to the river but emerging out onto the dry stone covered river bed he could no longer see the tracks. Looking up from the ground he caught a glimpse of movement in the trees further around the wide sweeping bend, yes it was the same figure moving quickly. Will set off in pursuit without a thought, something primal urging him forwards, the hunt was on.

The game of hide and seek continued all morning as Will doggedly tracked the illusive fur clad phantom deep into the north woods only pausing for brief rests. At near midday he knew that he had to take a longer break and get a bearing before going any further or going back. He sat down on a moss covered log and got a bar of pemmican out of his pack to begin chewing on it before taking out the GPS unit and switching it on. The monochrome display came on but almost immediately a little battery symbol flashed in the upper right corner.
“Not now,” he groaned and waited to see if there was enough juice to pull in a reading.
The display faded out completely and he was left holding the useless device, lost in the endless forests of the northlands, well almost lost.

He stuffed the unit back into the pack and rummaged for his compass, at least he could find his way back to town with that. He was about to begin re-tracing his steps when he caught a hint of wood smoke on the air. The chances of there being a hunter way out here were pretty slim, especially at this end of the year, but what if the fire belonged to his mysterious visitor? He was caught in a cleft stick; good sense demanded that he find his way back home now while he still had plenty of daylight, yet the wild curiosity that had driven him out here still burned hot in his belly.
The wind was coming out of the north, cold and pregnant with the promise of snow, but it could also guide him onwards to the campfire.

“Still got some time,” he said to himself and stood up resolutely.
The scent led him off the track along a very narrow trail that he would have missed not so many years ago. Moving slowly to follow the faint spoor, he consciously crunched twigs underfoot, you didn’t move quietly in bear country. Stepping out of the forest shadows he entered a dell formed by a toppled tree whose upended roots now formed a high wall that sheltered the glade from the scything north wind.

Built against the buttress of roots and soil was a lean to shelter covered in branches and before its entrance a small fire set within a ring of stones filled the air with resinous scent. A pile of branches stood to one side, fuel, and suspended from the highest protruding roots, a line of bags were held high off the ground out of a bears reach, food. This was no temporary bivouac.
“Hello,” Will called out from the rim of the little glade. His heart was pounding, but it was from anticipation not exercise now that he was so close to an answer to his visitor’s identity. No one returned his hail. Slowly he approached the lean to, looking about into the dark encircling trees at every step.

“Hello, anyone there?”
Only the wind answered him, swishing keenly through the needles high overhead, under clouds low and fat with snow. “Not good,” he muttered at the sullen sky and returned to his nervous inspection of the camp. Peering inside the lean to he could make out a bed of brush and reindeer moss but it was too dark to see anything else until his little torch beam cut through the greyness to reveal a little cluster of objects. Going in on his hands and knees he discovered a stone axe, a slender spear, several sharp edged stones and then something completely out of place in this Neolithic encampment, a plastic water bottle.

He shook it gently and heard water sloshing about inside, the sound of it made him aware of how thirsty he was after the long mornings jogging. Backing out he stood up, he had that phantom breath on his neck again, looked around sharply, nothing. Taking a swallow from his own water bottle he debated again whether he shouldn’t be making all speed back to town before the snow began.
The big white flakes that settled in the fire with little spitting hisses made the decision for him. It would be folly to set out into the darkening afternoon; there was no doubt in his mind that this was going to be a white out. With that choice settled he broke two of the branches in the wood pile and carefully arranged them on the fire, no sense in letting it go out, the camp’s owner wouldn’t thank him for that.

Placing the rifle and pack into the shelter of the lean to he sat down just inside it to watch the land undergo that magical transformation from multicoloured to monochrome as the snow settled fast and deep. Will fed more wood onto the fire as the day ebbed and the snow eased so that the encircling trees stood sentinel black above the pure white ground, but there was still no sign of the camp’s inhabitant. He sighed, a silent pale cloud before his face, he would have to spend the night here now. Eating another piece of pemmican he tried to ignore the hunger and the creeping cold by feeding more wood onto the fire.

Finally as the grey light faded imperceptibly into black night Will fetched his emergency mylar blanket out of his pack and retreated into the sparse comfort of the lean to. Wrapped up like some giant chicken ready for roasting Will was reasonably warm on the bed of his unknown host and slowly drifted off into sleep, but he kept waking in the sable silence, had he heard a footfall crunching through the snow?

Dawn was a stiff aching awakening in the gloom of the shelter as Will began to stretch out his limbs that he had huddled against his gut in the coldest part of the night, the mylar rustled like leaves in the wind and he groaned softly. Finally he peered out from under the silver sheet. The object that was so close to his face challenged his bleary eyes.

“Gord heh!” a voice said loudly and the spear point jabbed at him.
“Easy.” Will said softly and held out his open right hand, then his left. “Easy now.”
“Al heh!”
“You speak English?” Will asked slowly.
“Al heh!”

The movement of the spear indicated that he was being told to get out of the shelter, slowly Will complied, furtively looking around for his absent gun and pack. Outside the air was like a razor in his lungs and the ground a sparkling white meringue of deep fresh snow in the crisp morning light. Now that he stood up he towered over the boy before him and for the first time he could see the face of the mysterious Indian. A sun brown round face with brown eyes and a strong chin, definitely some European blood in the family as the nose was quite narrow and the cheekbones pronounced.

“Now what do we do?” Will asked sotto voce as he faced the spear point of stone, lashed and glued into a cleft stick, made the old way but no less deadly for it. The boy flicked it and jerked his head away from the camp. Will allowed himself to be herded into the trees, his thoughts darting through the forest seeking escape routes until he sniffed the air and caught the scent of fresh pee, so this was a rest call. The thinner snow under the canopy revealed a dark hole in the ground. He sighed, taking a shit in the woods was never high on his list of favourite outdoor pursuits, and taking a shit with an audience was just downright bad. Nevertheless he needed to go so he dropped his pants, squatted and got the business done before the exposure to the cold did any damage.

Back in the camp he was given some freshly cooked fish to eat and offered the water bottle to drink from, but the spear did not drop or waver. It was an uneasy peace between them sitting on opposite sides of the fire, neither able to communicate with the other it would appear, yet the boy began to speak. Will could only shake his head, he didn’t understand a word, but that only seemed to spur the boy on. With gestures of his free hand and movements of his body, he told his story.

He spread his arms like a soaring bird then he peered up into the sky, wide eyed, seeking. His gaze dropped, disappointed, but then it became determined and resolute. He placed his hands beside his head; his fingers open and splayed, then pointed the spear upwards towards the south where a low sun peered through the treetops. He swept his hand out over the snow and nodded towards the lean to; then the air seemed to go out of him and he was silent for slow moments. His voice dropped as he held an imagined weight and placed it gently down before him and stacked imaginary stones over the relinquished burden, then made smoothing movements over it. He had tears in his eyes as he held up his left hand with finger and thumb holding an invisible object towards Will.

“Pren heh laneau.” He declared pointing the quivering spear at Will’s clasped hands.
Will made an open handed gesture, what? The boy stabbed the air with the third finger on his left hand, not the offensive gesture it had initially appeared, it was a summons to speak. Will looked down at the platinum wedding ring on his own finger, all that was left of his marriage, his family.
“Yeah, I was married once,” Will began, paused, what was it to this wild boy of the woods? Yet something in the boys gaze demanded a response and he plunged ahead with his painful tale. “I had a beautiful wife, Elle, that’s what I called her, Elle, short for Elspeth. She was a Quebecer, part Cree, and she wanted our two kids to learn about their Indian heritage so she brought them up here every summer. They loved it, Jack was six Karen nearly five, it was the ideal vacation. I paid for the chopper to ferry them because I didn’t trust the boats the locals used. God, I wish I hadn’t been so blinkered.”

Tears formed in his eyes as he recalled the phone call that had come through to his accountancy business in the air-conditioned coolness overlooking Lake Ontario. The chopper had gone down somewhere en route to the summer encampment; the search teams were out looking….
That stone tipped spear could not have pierced him any more painfully.
“It crashed in the forest, they searched for days, then I hired pilots to carry on when the official search was called off, I left my business to come up here and direct the search. We didn’t find them. Elle, Jack and my little daughter Karen.”

The flames danced red and orange in his watery sight before he dragged his eyes back up to the boy again.
“Five years, and I won’t give up until I find them,” he half sobbed at the thought of their unknown and untended grave out in the wilds, “and bring them home.” He concluded, brandishing his wedding ring as though it were a talisman, a magic ring that could somehow span the lost years and bring the family back together again.

The ring caught the cold light; its sudden flash summoning a small fur clad figure from the concealing shadows of the encircling trees. Her face was brown but her hair that escaped from under her hood was a dirty blond and as she drew nearer he could see that her eyes were blue.
He staggered to his feet giddily as he saw what she plucked out from the little unadorned pouch that hung about her slender neck upon a frayed rawhide strip then held out like a lamp in the night, a silvery ring. His heart was pounding painfully as he reached his left hand towards it, his tongue a forgotten and useless appendage. As she came to a halt on the other side of the fire from him, his eyes danced back and forth between the two rings that were just a breath apart in the hot trembling air. The spiral patterns matched perfectly.

“Papa.” The girl whispered from beside the boy as their eyes flicked from the ring to the man, “Neau Papa!” Her joyful shout startled the hushed forest.
“Karen.” Will gasped as their fingers touched. “Jack.”
The wind was stilled yet his ears were filled with a roaring as the trees whirled and the sky fell, but he did not tumble into the snow for two rough fur clad children were clutching him tightly on either side.
“Papa.” Both cried out as his big hands found them.

Jim Grey Crow found the three sitting in front of the lean to, arms wrapped joyfully about each other. Hound gave that weird bark again and the trio looked up.
“Jim! I found them, my kids are alive!”
The old Indian nodded with a creased smile as Hound gambolled around them like a young puppy.
“So you listened to him Shanks. Good. He knew your kids, they played together as pups.”