Wings of Promise

by Bonnie Leon

  He spit on the stone to moisten it and then continued the task of sharpening. He’d like to get his hands on the man who’d taken advantage of Lily. She thought he loved her. She’s probably better off without him.

  A dull pain had settled in his fingers. He stopped for a moment and shook his hand. He’d been away from home so much he hadn’t kept up with the chore of keeping the axe and hatchet sharp, which now meant more time on the whetstone. He’d rather be swinging the axe than sharpening it.

  His thoughts drifted to Kate. He wondered how she was handling the disappearance of Amelia Earhart, who had gone missing several days ago. He knew it would hit her hard if her heroine was found dead or not at all. That’s what happens—people push too hard, lose all reason. The thought made him angry. Miss Earhart had people who loved and cared about her. Hadn’t she considered them when she took off on her adventure? She’s just like Kate.

  Sweat dripped into his eyes and he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. It was hot for July. He stopped to rest the aching muscles in his forearms, mopped his face with a handkerchief, and then gulped water from a canteen.

  Paul held up the axe to the light, hoping it was sharp enough. It wasn’t. He could still see the reflection of light in the blade. Spitting on it, he resumed the tedious job.

  He heard what sounded like a whine from outside and stopped working to listen. The whimper came again. The dogs were back. They’d headed out for a romp more than an hour ago. He set down the axe and went to the shed door and looked out. Nita stood head down in the middle of the yard. She ambled toward him, her tail barely flagging. There was no sign of the other two dogs.

  “What’s wrong, girl?” He knelt in front of her and ran his hand over the top of her head. “Where are the boys?”

  Just as he spoke, Jackpot appeared on the trail. He limped into the clearing. Alarm clanged through Paul. He hurried to the dog. “What happened to you, boy?” He stroked Jackpot’s black coat. It felt sticky and wet. Paul looked at his palm—it was coated with blood.

  Dread flared. He probed and found a gash along Jackpot’s left shoulder. It was still bleeding. “What did you tangle with, boy?”

  Paul glanced up the trail, hoping to see Buck. There was no sign of him. He returned to his examination of Jackpot and found several lacerations. By the size and depth of the gashes, he guessed they’d been inflicted by a bear. “Looks like he got the better of you.”

  Paul gazed into the forest, wondering what had become of Buck and hoping an enraged bear hadn’t followed his dogs home. He cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered for Buck, then waited. There was no sign of the big malamute. He called again and again. Still nothing.

  His stomach roiled. Even a dog Buck’s size couldn’t stand up to an angry grizzly. He should have returned with the other two dogs. Either he was too badly injured . . . or dead. Sickening possibilities tumbled through Paul’s mind. And then memories pressed in. He’d spotted Buck in a litter of pups when he’d first arrived in Anchorage. They’d been comrades ever since. Dead or alive, he had to find him.

  Paul looked at Jackpot, who lay in the dirt licking his wounds. He’d have to tend to him before he could search for Buck. Gently, he combed through Jackpot’s hair, looking for injuries. He cleaned and sutured each one. Jackpot whimpered from time to time, but he remained still, seeming to know Paul was helping.

  With Buck on his mind, Paul fought the impulse to hurry. After he’d tended to Jackpot’s wounds, he gave both of the dogs food and water, then closed them inside the shed. He sprinted to the house to get his rifle, then headed to Patrick’s. It would be wise to let him know where he’d gone.

  He knocked on the door and waited impatiently. He didn’t want to waste a moment.

  “Hi, Paul,” Sassa said, as she came around the corner of the house. She wore a broad smile. “Good to see you.” Her smile faded.

  “Is Patrick here?” Paul walked down the steps.

  “He went to Susitna Station. Anything I can do?”

  “No.” Paul shifted the rifle he’d slung over his shoulder. “The dogs went for a run this morning. Only Nita and Jackpot came back. Jackpot’s pretty chewed up—looks like a bear got to him.”

  “Oh, Paul. I’m so sorry. Is he going to be all right?”

  “Yeah. He’ll be fine.” Paul’s eyes wandered back toward his place. “But Buck’s out there somewhere. I have to find him.”

  “Maybe you should wait for Patrick and go together. It’d be better if there are two of you, especially if the bear’s the same one who made a mess of things at Klaus’s.”

  “Maybe, but dogs and bears are never a good mix.” He glanced at his place again. “I can’t wait. Buck could be badly injured. And the bear’s probably long gone by now.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Yeah. I will. You might want to keep the boys close to home. There’s been bear scat around my place. If it’s the same bear . . . well . . .” He shrugged.

  “I’d say that bear will make a good rug.” Sassa grinned, then her expression and voice turned somber. “I hope you find Buck.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Where are Nita and Jackpot?”

  “I closed them in the shed. Nita’s fine, but I had a lot of sewing to do on Jackpot.”

  “I’ll check on them.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  Paul headed up the trail, his mind filled with thoughts of Buck. He’d been the largest in his litter, with great big feet and a happy disposition. He’d grown into a powerful dog, but had trained easily in spite of his determined nature. Buck wasn’t the type to back down from a challenge even if it came from a grizzly. He’d fight to the death.

  Sick to his stomach, Paul knew Buck was probably never coming home. Heartache swelled and he tasted the saltiness of tears. Wiping at them, he forced his mind back to tracking. He had no time to be maudlin.

  It wasn’t difficult to follow the dogs’ trail. They’d frolicked their way through the forest, leaving a profusion of broken limbs and crushed brush.

  Paul had only traveled about a mile when he came across a downed tree torn apart by a bear. It had been turned over and shredded, providing the animal with an insect feast. Had the dogs come upon him here? Paul knelt and studied prints left in the soil. It was a grizzly—a big one. Its tracks had been disturbed and partially covered by those of the dogs. They’d gone after him, all right.

  Paul slowed his pace and stopped, listening for any sound of Buck or the bear. He waited and studied the foliage. Was the bear out there, watching him?

  When he was reasonably certain the grizzly wasn’t nearby, he called softly, “Buck.” The wilderness with its birdsong and buzz of insects swallowed his voice. There was no response from his dog.

  He followed a swath of broken limbs and flattened grasses. It looked like the brush had been crushed by the pursuit of excited dogs. Paul figured the chase had started here. Watchful, he moved cautiously, not wanting to surprise the grizzly and set up a confrontation.

  Continuing to follow the trail, he called Buck’s name again. There was no answering bark or whimper. He came upon a heavily trampled area. The brush and grasses were bloodied. This had to be where the battle had taken place. His rifle ready, Paul stood in one spot and slowly turned, his gaze probing the trees and bushes. Had the bear fled?

  “Buck,” he called. Then he whistled. “Come on, boy.” He searched the area, finding nothing. And then he saw it, a mound of black and silver fur. His heart thumped into his throat. “Buck!”

  Fearing the worst, Paul ran to his friend and knelt beside him. He rested a hand on the animal’s side. He looked like he was dead. And then beneath his fingers Paul felt the dog’s chest rise ever so slightly. He was breathing! “Oh, Buck.” Paul cradled the dog’s big head in his lap. “Come on, boy, wake up.”

  Buck didn’t react.

  Paul quickly examined the malamute. The dog was badly injured. Along with numerous lacerations, he had a broken leg and pu
ncture wounds in his neck and head. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Paul rolled him onto his other side and his gaze fell upon what should certainly be a fatal wound. What felt like a hammer slamming against his chest knocked the wind out of Paul. The bear had laid open the dog’s side.

  He hefted Buck into his arms, and cradling him against his chest, he set off for home. Paul counted a hundred paces, then stopped and rested, then counted off another hundred. His arms and back screamed for him to stop. He kept going, telling Buck everything would be fine, that he’d fix him up good as new and that they’d run the trapline again.

  Exhausted, Paul’s legs crumpled beneath him. Sucking in oxygen, he rested a moment, then stumbled back to his feet and kept moving. Paul knew that even if they made it home, Buck probably wouldn’t live. He could feel the heat and moisture of Buck’s blood soaking into his coat. Still, he kept moving, checking again and again to see if the dog was still breathing.

  With the trail in sight, Paul heard the crackle of branches. Was it the bear? Had it returned to finish off Buck and him too? Paul set down the dog and grabbed his rifle. His finger on the trigger, he stared into the brush. A spruce hen flushed out of the bushes. Paul’s pulse raced and he let out a breath. He’d nearly wasted several rounds on a bird.

  By the time the cabin was in sight, the muscles in Paul’s back felt as if they were on fire. His legs would barely hold him. But the sight of the house breathed strength into him and he kept moving.

  When he approached the cabin, Lily stepped out of the shed. “Paul. Thank God you found him! I was so worried.” Her gaze went to Buck. “Is he . . . alive?”

  “Barely. The bear got him good. How’s Jackpot?”

  “I think he’ll be all right. He’s sleeping.”

  Nita trotted out of the workshop and nudged Paul’s leg, then she sniffed Buck. “You’re looking good, girl,” Paul said and headed for the house. “Lily, can you get the door for me?”

  She hurried up the steps and swung the door wide. “What else can I do?”

  Paul stumbled onto the porch and into the kitchen where he set Buck on the table. “I’ll need more light. Bring in a couple of lanterns.” He stripped off his bloodied coat while he rushed into his room to grab his medical bag. He dropped the coat over the back of a chair.

  By the time he returned, Lily had two lanterns on the table. She struck a match and lit them.

  “Thanks. Can you heat some water?”

  “Sure.” Lily filled a pot with water and set it on the stove, then she put paper and kindling in the stove and lit a fire.

  Paul turned his attention to Buck, examining his injuries. The damage was extensive. The most humane thing to do would be to put him down. Paul stroked the dog’s head, considering what he ought to do. He remembered all the promises he’d made to Buck while carrying him home. He had to at least try to save his life.

  “Okay. Here we go. I’ll do my best.” Buck made no sound, no twitch of an ear or an eye. It seemed as if he were already dead. Paul wondered if any of the head injuries had stolen the dog’s mind.

  He worked on the gaping wound in Buck’s side first. After clipping away the hair, he washed out the gash with warm water and soap. He examined internal organs and didn’t find any evidence of tears or severe bruising. Infection could still set in. He did a final cleanse with Listerine, then sewed him up.

  All the while, Lily stood at his side, making sure he had everything he needed. With the warmth of the stove adding to the heat of the day, the room was sweltering. Using a washcloth, Lily mopped perspiration from Paul’s forehead to keep sweat out of his eyes.

  Patrick showed up just as Paul finished working on Buck’s abdomen. He stepped inside and quietly closed the door. “Sassa told me what happened. Sorry to hear about Jackpot. It looks like Buck’s in a bad way too.”

  “He got the worst of it,” Paul said, his hands continuing to probe the dog for further injuries. “He’s never done anything halfway.”

  Paul found a deep puncture. There was little to do except to swab it out. He clipped away hair from a slash on the dog’s neck. If the bear had hit an artery, Buck would have bled out on the spot.

  Patrick stood across the table from Paul. “Anything I can do?”

  “Maybe you can keep the rags cleaned. And I’ll need more. Can you find a few?”

  “Sure. I’ll be right back. Sassa probably has a pile of them.”

  Paul heard the door open and close. A few minutes later, Patrick returned with a bundle of clean cloths. Paul continued to work, clipping, cleaning, and suturing. With all the lacerations tended to, he turned his attention to Buck’s hind leg. It wasn’t broken but was dislocated.

  “Looks like the bear got ahold of that leg and pulled,” Patrick said.

  “Yep.” Paul manipulated the limb back into place. He listened to Buck’s heart and breathing. Both were weak. There wasn’t anything more Paul could do.

  He looked up at Lily. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Glad I was here.” She cleared away bloody swabs. “I’ll wash these for you,” she said, heading for the door.

  Paul picked up his instruments and set them in the sink. Using a wet rag, he wiped up the blood on the table, then listened to Buck’s heart again—it was steady.

  “Thank God you found him,” Patrick said.

  “Yeah.” Paul gazed at his dog. “It’s amazing he’s still alive.” He draped a blanket over him. “He lost a lot of blood, and there could be massive infection. He was torn open pretty badly.”

  Paul made sure he sounded matter of fact, but his insides were raw and he was terrified that he’d lose his best friend. What would he do without Buck?

  He felt the pressure of Patrick’s hand on his shoulder. “That dog’s got heart. He’ll pull through.”

  Paul nodded, unable to speak.

  He’d done everything he could. But the truth was that even if Buck made it this time, one day he would die. Everything died eventually.

  — 12 —

  With Buck at his side, Paul stepped out of the cabin and held the door open for his canine friend. Buck limped out. Paul had kept the dog indoors while his wounds mended. Most days, Buck seemed content to remain at his side, and Paul was grateful for his company. There had been days of waiting and praying when he’d feared he’d lose him. But the big malamute had struggled back, unwilling to give up his life.

  Paul walked more slowly than usual so Buck could keep up. The dog was the determined sort and might hurt himself if Paul got in too big a hurry. Glancing at his owner now and then, he managed to match Paul’s pace.

  “Good boy,” Paul said, resting a hand on the dog’s head.

  Buck answered with a wag of his tail.

  Nita and Jackpot strained on their leads and barked at them. “I know, you want to run.”

  Paul put Buck in the shed, then returned to the dogs and let them off their leads. While they bounded around him, he picked up a stick and tossed it. They chased after it, Nita coming up with the prize and trotting back to Paul with the treasure.

  They needed time off their leads, but Paul couldn’t keep himself from worrying that they’d have another encounter with the bear or some other animal, like a wolverine or ill-tempered moose. The wilderness was alive with danger.

  Jackpot had healed nicely and didn’t seem the least bit encumbered by his injuries. Paul took the stick from Nita and tossed it again. This time Jackpot was the first one to grab the stick, and then took off with Nita chasing him. When they dashed down the trail, Paul forced himself not to call them back. They needed freedom to run. It wouldn’t be fair to restrain them because of his fears. He watched them go.

  “Make sure to come back,” he said under his breath.

  He sauntered toward the shed, where Buck greeted him at the door and tried to push past. “I know you want to go, but you’re not ready yet.” He knelt and pulled the dog into his arms, pushing his fingers through his thick coat, careful not to press too hard. “You’ll hav
e to stay close to home for a while.” He stood and stroked the dog’s head, then moved inside the shed and closed the door.

  Paul took several leghold traps down from the wall and set them on the workbench. He examined and wire brushed each one. They were in good shape with only a few needing minor repairs. He set those aside.

  As always, his thoughts turned to Kate. It had been several weeks since he’d seen her. Ever since their breakup, Jack had lined up flights for him with other pilots. But Paul knew eventually he and Kate would have to fly together again. He wasn’t sure how he’d manage to work with her and keep a casual relationship. No matter what, it would be awkward. But worse than that would be sharing their lives again, only it would be impersonal. How would he pull that off?

  Each day without her felt as if it were filled with barbs. Her face, her laughter and spirit haunted him. He’d hoped as the days passed that life without her would become more manageable, but her absence only taunted him. He’d begun to think that this wasn’t any better than if she had died. Maybe he’d been a fool to end the relationship.

  When he’d finished scrubbing the traps, he dipped them in a bucket of creek water to remove any remnants of his scent. Using a stick, he fished them out of the pail and set them in a box, then turned to the ones needing repair.

  A low growl emanated from deep within Buck’s chest. Paul glanced at him, then went back to work. The dog pushed to his feet and, staring at the door, he growled again, his hair bristling.

  “What is it, boy?” Paul figured one of the Warrens had come by for a visit. “Is that the way we greet guests?” He walked to the door and opened it. Buck pushed up alongside him, but Paul blocked him from getting out. He didn’t want the dog’s enthusiasm for visitors to override the restraints of his injuries. No running yet.

  “Stay back,” he said. Buck’s hackles were raised as he stared past Paul’s legs. Paul went to step outside and then he spotted a grizzly with a shimmering deep brown coat nosing around the porch. Alarm pulsated through him. It was likely the same bear that had nearly killed the dogs and torn up Klaus’s place.