Lost in the Barrens

by Farley Mowat

  Awasin looked long into his friend’s face.

  “I never thought you’d understand about that, Jamie,” he said at last. “White men don’t as a rule. Most of them think they can beat the northland in any fight. A lot of them have found out differently, and didn’t live to tell about it. My people know differently. It’s hard to put into words, but I think you understand. If you fight against the spirits of the north you will always lose. Obey their laws and they’ll look after you.”

  It was a long speech for Awasin, but when he finished both boys felt happier than they had for many weeks. They were humbler too. They were ready to return to the tiny cabin in the valley and to abandon their foolish and almost fatal effort to force their will upon the Barrenlands.

  They spent the rest of the day at their lonely camp in the empty plains. Carefully Jamie gathered up all the meat he could find about the sled, and it was enough for two days of half-rations. Meanwhile Awasin had taken two broad strips of rawhide, each about two feet long. In these he had carefully cut narrow eye-slits. Bound around the boys’ foreheads, these would serve as makeshift snow goggles.

  When a half-moon rose that night the boys harnessed up. Soon they were moving north again—back home.

  The night was still and cloudless and the cold was sharp. The moon hung low in the sky and the world was a blue immensity of space. They walked slowly behind the sled and occasionally one would ride for a while, for they were still weak from the three days of snow-blind sickness.

  Towards midnight the northern lights broke into a riot of color. Curtains of green, yellow and pale red flamed across the sky, and it seemed to Jamie that he could hear a faint rustling sound, like the swish of silken dresses.

  Awasin heard the sound too and for a moment he was puzzled, then the answer flashed across his mind. His lips set grimly. He turned to Jamie.

  “Perhaps we’ve called it quits,” he said, “but the fight isn’t over yet. That’s wind we hear!”

  The memories of the gales that had roared over Hidden Valley in weeks past filled Jamie’s mind. “We can’t get caught out here,” he said urgently. “We’ve no fuel left and almost no grub.”

  “Perhaps we can make the shelter of the mountain,” Awasin replied.

  The dogs too had heard the warning of the approaching storm and they needed no urging. The boys ran and the sled careened wildly over the hummocks and little ridges.

  After half an hour of this they had to stop and rest. The dogs whined anxiously and impatiently, and the faint, far-off rustling sound grew in volume until it began to sound like a distant waterfall. Gray clouds obscured the moon and the northern lights faded and died away. The darkness grew thicker so that it was hard to see what lay ahead.

  When the sled moved on there was already a light breeze blowing and the temperature had begun to fall abruptly. Awasin automatically noted the direction of the breeze for he knew in a short time it would be his only guide, and he would have to steer by the feel of it alone.

  Resting every fifteen or twenty minutes, the boys fled northward. The roar of rising wind now filled their ears and it was mingled with the throbbing of their hearts. The gale gained power slowly until they had to pull their parka hoods forward against its bitter touch. The snow in the hollows began to rise above the hard drifts and whirl like ghostly dancers. Frost thickened on the fur trimming of the parka hoods.

  It had become almost pitch-dark. Awasin went ahead to lead the dogs, and when he was a few feet from Jamie he was completely out of sight. Jamie followed close behind the sled, but several times he almost lost it and at last he tied himself to it with a length of rawhide line. Stumbling with fatigue, he managed to keep on his feet only by the greatest effort.

  The roar of the gale was now no longer distant. No longer simply warning them, it burst down out of the darkness with full fury. It rose to a soul-shaking crescendo of sound.

  The blizzard was upon them!

  CHAPTER 25

  Peetyuk

  THE WORLD HAD BECOME A WHIRLING, screaming nightmare of wind and snow. Gasping for breath, Awasin halted and turned his back to the gale while the dogs huddled close to his knees. A moment later Jamie came stumbling up, feeling his way along the sled.

  “Got to camp!” Jamie shouted in his friend’s ear.

  “Can’t!” Awasin yelled back. “Freeze to death out here. Go that way!” He pointed to the east. “Wind partly behind us then!”

  Now both boys clutched Ayuskeemo’s harness as they stumbled off toward the northeast. Somewhere ahead they hoped to find the protecting shoulders of Idthen-seth, and under its stony flanks there might be shelter. It was the only hope. There was no choice but to go on, for to have camped in the open would have certainly meant death.

  The snow whipped down like driven shot and the gale deafened them. For what seemed like endless hours they dragged themselves forward, falling, pulling themselves up again, and staggering on.

  At last Jamie fell for the last time. He could not get to his knees and, past caring, he lay back in the snow and gave up trying.

  Awasin shook him frantically. “Get up!” he screamed. “You’ll die if you lie there! Get up!”

  Jamie did not answer. A warm, drowsy feeling was driving out the chill of the blizzard. He drifted off into a dreamy world and imagined that he was at home, far to the south, and someone was tucking him into a warm bed. Who was it? He did not know, or care. The bed was soft and comfortable and he only wished to sleep…

  For a moment Awasin was panic-stricken, but he kept his head. Summoning his remaining strength, he managed to roll Jamie on the sled and wrap him in the sleeping robes. Then he fought his way back to Ayuskeemo’s side and once again took up the terrible struggle with the storm.

  Mechanically his legs shuffled on. He hardly noticed when the dogs swerved from their course and began to trot. Awasin was pulled along unprotesting until the dogs stopped short and Fang lifted his head and howled.

  Fang’s great voice could hardly be heard above the raging wind, but it served to rouse Awasin from his stupor. There was a momentary slackening in the blizzard, and as Awasin raised his head he saw before him, hardly a sled length away, the dim bulk of something round and smooth. A thought slowly came to life in his tired brain. “Igloo!” he thought. “Eskimos!” But he was too far gone to be afraid. Devils or men might own this igloo—but at least it was shelter from the storm. He stumbled forward.

  The entrance tunnel was directly in front of him, and falling to his knees, he crawled in. The relief of escaping from the blizzard was so great he almost fainted. Then he remembered Jamie.

  Using all the remaining strength in his tough body, he crawled back to the sled, pulled Jamie’s limp form to the snow, and tugged him to the tunnel mouth. Inch by inch Awasin struggled forward through the five-foot tunnel until he knew he had reached the igloo’s little inner room.

  His work was not yet finished. Leaving Jamie, he retraced his steps to the sled, cut the dogs loose from their harness, and gathered up the deerskin robes and the rifle. The journey back into the igloo was the longest of his life, and when he reached Jamie’s side it was all he could do to spread the robes and crawl inside them alongside his friend before darkness overwhelmed him too.

  The two dogs had followed him in and now they curled up on the edge of the robes, adding their body heat to that of the two boys, so that in a little while the deadly chill vanished from the air and the wanderers, boys and dogs, slept the sleep of complete exhaustion.

  Awasin never knew how long he slept. He woke dazedly and slowly opened his eyes. Above him was the pearl-gray outline of the snow dome, but for some minutes his mind was too drugged to realize where he was. Slowly he recalled the events of the blizzard and the finding of the empty snowhouse. Once again the thought of Eskimos raced through his brain—this time with the effect of an electric shock.

  He sat up and stared around him in sudden fright. The igloo was deserted. There was no sound of the storm, for it had di
ed away hours earlier. Thin daylight shone through the snow blocks of the roof and revealed a broad sleeping ledge of snow across one half of the igloo. On the ledge were caribou skins and pieces of deermeat, but there was no sign of a human being.

  With one hand Awasin reached for the rifle, while with the other he shook Jamie’s shoulder. Jamie moaned a little and slowly came awake. Through his sore and swollen eyes he could see Awasin’s face bending over him, and beyond that, the dome of the igloo. “Where are we?” he asked between cracked lips.

  Hurriedly Awasin told the story of the last part of the journey, concluding with: “We’re in an Eskimo igloo, and we can rest for a while—if the Eskimos don’t come home!” He could not repress a shiver at the prospect and again his hand went to the rifle by his side.

  The igloo was cold, but not unbearably so, for it had been well made, and freshly cut snow blocks make fine insulation. Stiffly the two boys crawled out of the robes and looked about. Their eyes fell on the meat and hungrily they examined it. It was frozen solid, but in a niche in one side of the igloo was a little stone lamp very much like the ones they had found on the Eskimo graves. It was half full of congealed fat.

  Awasin managed to squeeze out through the tunnel to the sled and get the fire drill. The two dogs met him outside and showed by their swollen stomachs that they too had found food.

  The sky was clear but hazy, and in the diffused light Awasin could see nothing that looked in the least familiar. The white blanket covering the plains seemed to be unbroken as far as his eyes could reach. Very far off to the northwest was a smoky line that might have been the shape of Idthen-seth, half hidden in snow eddies. But if he could not tell where he was, at least Awasin had the relief of knowing that no other living thing was moving on the plains.

  After a hard struggle he managed to get the stone lamp lit, and he and Jamie toasted scraps of deermeat over the little flame until they were partly thawed. They ate and ate, and, as the lamp burned away, the interior of the igloo grew quite warm. At last, gorged and relaxed, they sank back into sleep. With a last impulse of caution Awasin levered a shell into the chamber of the rifle, and placed the gun so that he could grasp it in an instant.

  They had not slept many hours when Jamie was awakened by a hoarse growl from Fang, who had curled up by his head. Sleepily Jamie rolled over on his side; then Fang burst into a series of howls that made both boys shoot upright in their sleeping robes.

  The dogs stood by the tunnel entrance with their back hairs erect. Suddenly Fang dashed out, close followed by his mate, and pandemonium broke loose outside.

  Awasin’s face had set in a tight grimace of fear. Squirming out of the robe, he fell on his knees, holding the rifle leveled at the tunnel mouth. Jamie, too, felt his heart pound heavily as he fumbled for the hunting knife slung at his waist.

  From outside the igloo a chorus of dog howls had risen to a wild crescendo of sound, punctured by a voice crying strange words. Almost at once the sounds of the dogs ceased and an uneasy silence followed.

  “The tunnel! Watch the tunnel!” Awasin whispered hoarsely. Sweat was standing out on his face and his terror was such that the rifle shook in his hands. All the ancient tales of the savagery of Eskimos had awakened in his imagination. Awasin’s fear was catching, and despite himself Jamie felt it too.

  Now there came a rustling sound from the tunnel and the tension became unbearable. Awasin’s finger twitched on the trigger of the rifle.

  Jamie felt his heart leap wildly, for a face had suddenly appeared in the dark opening before him.

  It was not the face itself that froze Jamie and Awasin into such immobility that neither of them could have moved a muscle. It was the hair that escaped from under the hood of the stranger’s parka. Long hair it was—and flaming red in color!

  Awasin’s voice, high-pitched and unnatural, broke the silence with a yell—and his finger tightened convulsively on the trigger.

  Jamie flung himself forward and into Awasin, knocking the Indian boy over on his side. The face in the tunnel mouth vanished, but Jamie was already in hot pursuit. “That was a boy you almost shot!” he flung over his shoulder at Awasin as he scrambled out of the tunnel.

  As Jamie stood up outside, Fang threw himself against his legs, whimpering with excitement. Jamie shielded his eyes with both hands and there, not fifty feet away, he saw a long sled to which was harnessed a team of a dozen dogs. The stranger stood with one foot on the sled, as if ready to leap aboard and flee. He was dressed all in furs, and Jamie could see that under the mop of red hair there was the frightened face of a boy not much older than himself.

  Quickly Jamie thrust out his empty hands to show he had no gun, then he tried a smile. The stranger stood poised like a deer ready for flight.

  “Friends!” Jamie cried desperately. “Don’t go! We’re friends!”

  It was obvious that the stranger had his doubts—and not much wonder, considering the reception he had met in the igloo. The decision hung in the balance and then Ayuskeemo saved the day.

  She had been smelling noses with the big beasts of the stranger’s team. One of these dogs became jealous and tackled its neighbor. Next instant the whole team exploded in a roaring free-for-all.

  The stranger leaped off the sled and flung himself into the melee. Jamie ran to help, and for a few minutes the two were all mixed up in a mass of snarling, snapping Huskies.

  By dint of kicks, wild yells, and adroit bangs on the dogs’ snouts, the battle was brought to an end. Then, panting, the stranger and Jamie looked at each other.

  The unknown boy was dark-skinned like an Indian, but his features were regular and sharp. His startling red hair was not his only oddity, for Jamie saw that he had clear blue eyes as well. Tentatively now the stranger smiled.

  Overjoyed, Jamie pointed to the igloo and made signs of eating. The stranger smiled broadly, and to Jamie’s consternation said in English: “Sure—we eat tutktu—deer. But that fellow, he act like he want to eat me!” He pointed to the igloo and Jamie, turning, saw Awasin standing openmouthed, staring at him, with the rifle still held in his hands.

  Awasin looked remarkably foolish, his mouth open and his eyes fairly popping out of his head.

  When Jamie had prevented him from firing the rifle, Awasin assumed that his friend had gone quite mad. But terrified as he was, Awasin had hurried to save Jamie from the awful fate he was sure awaited him outside. He had crawled out of the tunnel prepared to sell his life dearly in Jamie’s defense, and he had arrived in time to witness the dogfight, and to see the dreaded stranger, the Eskimo eater-of-raw-flesh, standing at Jamie’s side, grinning merrily, and talking in English!

  It was too much for Awasin. The rifle slipped out of his hand and fell muzzle down into the snow while Jamie, unable to contain himself, burst into howls of laughter. The stranger laughed too while Awasin shook his head foolishly as if doubting his own eyes.

  An hour later the three boys sat in the igloo eating heartily of the meat which the stranger, who said his name was Peetyuk, produced from his sled.

  It took some time for his story to be told, for Peetyuk’s command of English was sketchy, and he had trouble making himself clearly understood at first. But by the next day, when the three boys set out from the little igloo in the direction of the Kazon River to find the camps of the Eskimos, Jamie and Awasin had learned much of Peetyuk’s fascinating history.

  The story began on a day seventeen years earlier, when Peetyuk was born in an igloo of the inland Eskimos not far from the Kazon. His mother was an Eskimo, but his father was a white man—the same white man who had disappeared from Thanout Lake on a trading expedition to the Eskimo country twenty years before. He was the red-headed Englishman for whom the old ruined building at Red-Head Post was named.

  The young trader had made his way into the Eskimo country and then had suffered an almost fatal accident when his sled overturned among some ice hummocks. The Eskimos had found him and had taken him to their camps, where he was nursed
back to life. In due course he married an Eskimo woman, and a year or two later his son Peetyuk was born.

  It had always been the man’s intention to take his wife and child back to his own country, but his wounds had never completely healed, and when Peetyuk was only four years old his father died.

  Before his death, the sick man did everything he could to make sure that his son would someday return to the land of the white man. He taught Peetyuk’s mother to speak English, and he made her promise to teach the boy. She also promised that, when the boy was old enough, he should be sent south to seek his father’s people.

  Peetyuk’s mother had done her best to keep these promises. But neither she nor any of her people had ever dared to journey south into the forests, for they were far more afraid of the Indians than the Chipeweyans were of the Eskimos. So, when he became old enough to travel, Peetyuk had tried to make his own contact with the strange peoples of the south.

  It had been Peetyuk, trying to make contact with Denikazi’s hunting party on the River of the Frozen Lake, who had unwittingly caused Jamie and Awasin to be marooned in the Barrens. But this had not been the Eskimo boy’s fault, and whatever trouble he had accidentally caused the two boys he had more than redeemed by saving their lives now.

  The reception he had met at the Chipeweyan night camp would have discouraged most people—but not Peetyuk. He still had hopes of obeying his father’s wishes. One day when he was on a long trip looking for two lost dogs (the two that Jamie and Awasin found), he came across the Stone Igloo Camp by the shores of the River of the Frozen Lake, and once more his hopes had risen.

  Wearing Eskimo snowshoes of deer hide stretched solidly on willow frames, he had tramped about the apparently deserted camp hoping to find some clue that would help guide him back to his father’s country. It was the round, unfamiliar track of his snowshoes that the boys had later discovered by their cache.