by Sandra Clark
'He's a prospector of the old school,' explained Mac. 'Adamantly refuses to have a transmitter installed, hates anything new-fangled. I don't know how he manages to eke out an existence.'
'He's a pigheaded old drunk, I'm afraid to say,' said Mrs Mac acerbically. 'I met him once down at Copper— lives like an animal, stuck in the past. He still dreams of the old days when a man could make a fortune overnight. But he's harmless enough, and his place is something of a meeting place at the head of the valley. Trappers always know they can get a drink there. If anybody knows anything, he should.'
'Take him a bottle of whisky and he'll tell you anything he can,' added Mac.
The idea was for Chuck to fly them north, leave them, then return in a couple of days after they'd had time to go on foot, have a word with Sanderson, sort something out if at all possible, then get back to the pick-up point on the river. Mac had been quite cheering. 'If they've gone to the ice fields that's the route they'll have taken, without a doubt, so at least you'll know one way or the other. If, as I'd guess, they're hunting caribou beyond the Mackenzie, then it'll be fairly easy to get word out through Sanderson.'
Belinda smiled wryly. 'So it'll be a question of wait and see again,' she said.
Mac had shrugged apologetically. 'If you're meant to meet them you will.' It was cold comfort, but it was all he could offer.
She fingered the knobs on the transmitter. Now she was counting the hours till she heard that Chuck was on his way. Restlessly she moved about the sitting-room. 'All right,' she said, 'I'll go and get some exercise and fresh air. Let me know straight away if any news comes through.' She pulled on her parka and in a few minutes was walking briskly in the frosty air towards the water's edge. One or two people were coming up the track and she exchanged a brief greeting with them. For once she wanted to rest from her struggles with the language and she walked briskly on. There was an air of unusual activity in the camp today, and she put it down to the preparations being made for the big freeze-up. No doubt everyone else was taking a leaf out of old Nuallataq's book too, and the knowledge made it even more important that she should get on to the next stage of her quest as soon as possible. Down by the stores there was a knot of people and she quickened her pace. May as well have a brief look at what's going on, she thought, then continue my exercise. Life is uneventful enough at the moment.
As she approached she saw that there was a team of dogs staked in an open space near the building and three or four men were standing around discussing something with a lot of hand gestures and much shrugging of the shoulders. It was obviously something pretty important. Belinda was wary of going too close. She had seen her first dog-team earlier in the week when one of the trappers from the north had come into camp, and she had been scared half out of her wits by the menacingly wild behaviour of the animals. Even as she watched, one of them started up a fight with the brute nearest to it and the owner of the team shouted angrily and gave the animal a cuff on the nose with his fist. The brute dropped its head and growled savagely, but it kept its teeth out of its companion for the time being. At that moment there was a commotion at the far end of the track which brought the group of men fanning out, faces turned expectantly towards the noise.
A fresh team came tearing boisterously round the corner of the store pulling a small wooden sled over the frozen ground. Belinda recognised the driver of the team at once and involuntarily stepped back a pace or two. But Barron was too intent on managing the dozen or so unruly dogs to let his glance wander elsewhere. With a few short, sharp commands he brought the fierce-looking mob to a halt, threw the hitching rope over a stake and swung easily off the sled. The men clustered round his tall figure, obviously eager to hear him give his verdict, and he replied fluently to their apparent questioning. One of the dogs was unhitched from its fellows and Barron took hold of it, digging his fingers into its thick hair as if examining it. It seemed to meet with his approval, because he said something to one of the men and a laugh and a burst of excited chatter broke out among them. Barron released the dog, but still holding its leash, took it to a corner of the building where there was a bundle lying on the ground. When he returned to the men he was slowly drawing through his hands a white fox fur—Belinda could see its shining luxury even at a distance. She gulped with amazement as Barron handed the fur to one of the men. In the city such a luxurious-looking object would fetch a high price. Now, as if a business deal had been successfully transacted, the two men briefly touched hands and Belinda watched fascinated as the Eskimo stuffed the fur into a bag on his back and made towards his team of dogs.
Something must have happened then, for, as the man walked close by the neighbouring team, one of the dogs suddenly leaped up at him, fastening its teeth savagely into the sleeve of the man's parka. It was the signal for all hell to break loose. Dogs from both teams erupted in a biting, yapping melee. The man fell to the ground and disappeared under the great furry bodies of the snarling half-breeds. In a flash, Barron had snatched up a stick and was wading in amongst the animals, lashing out at the ringleaders, striving desperately to bring the savage beasts under control. Two of the other men, after a moment's hesitation, managed to plunge in after Barron and drag the other man to safety.
Thanks to the thickness of his deerskin garments and Barron's alacrity in getting the ringleaders under control, he seemed relatively unhurt, but Belinda found that she had rushed forward with a small cry of concern. She was now standing within a few feet of the place where Barron, having asserted his domination over the team, was calmly trying to untangle the lead reins. It was all over almost as soon as it had started, the dogs grizzling and growling among themselves, but otherwise calm. Belinda was trembling foolishly when the man turned to look at her. One of them came over to her at once, and she recognised him as a friend of Taqaq. He shrugged and gestured back to the dogs, making a sound in the back of his throat. His teeth flashed in a reassuring smile and he said something that Belinda could not understand.
Barron, easing his shoulders after his exertions, strode slowly over to them. 'He says there's nothing to be worried about. He thinks you look scared.'
'I'm not scared,' retorted Belinda at once. 'They are tied up, after all.' She tossed her head.
'That's all right, then,' replied Barron easily. His cold eyes swept her body once again, fastening on the parka she was wearing. Then abruptly he turned away. It was their first encounter in several days, and the first time he had spoken to her since she had said those insulting things in his house.
One of the men now said something to him and Barron went over to the dog which had caused all the trouble in the first place. Taking out a dangerous-looking long-bladed knife from his belt, he deftly cut the animal free from the rest of the team and dragged it with some difficulty to the man. To Belinda's horror the man produced a rifle from the equipment piled up outside the store, and before she knew what was happening he had knelt down beside the dog and shot it quickly and without another word in the head. Belinda's eyes dilated with shock and she stood for a long moment looking down at the now motionless mound of fur lying on the ground.
Barron had released it almost as the shot rang out and he was turning now back to his own recent acquisition, letting the dead animal's leash fall to the ground.
A sick feeling started in Belinda's stomach and rose to her throat. She could not take her eyes off the pathetic heap of fur. Then suddenly, as if galvanised into life, she sprang forward, her fists bunched, eyes blazing, cheeks crimson with rage. 'You've killed it!' she yelled at Barron. 'You knew he was going to shoot it. You've killed it—you savage!' She rushed up to Barron, prepared to do who knew what, but when he swung suddenly round to face her and she met the full impact of those ice blue eyes she faltered. More quietly she said, 'Why on earth did you do that?'
Barron rose to his full height. 'It was necessary,' he replied shortly. Then, as if she was of no more consequence than one of the animals he had subdued, he turned back to the men.
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nbsp; Belinda stood there trembling from head to foot. Her knees felt weak and her heart was beating madly in her breast as if it would never slow down. Her voice when it came was a croak of emotion. 'Necessary?' she asked. Barron didn't turn. She felt herself propelled forward by some force. 'Necessary?' she repeated, her voice regaining some of its former strength. 'What sort of twisted logic makes it necessary to shoot a dog on impulse?' She paused, willing him to turn, to explain himself.
He must have felt the force of her will, for, taking his time over it, he at length turned to face her. 'Dogs are like people,' he said, with a cruel smile. 'When they're young and new to the job they're apt to be nervous and excitable, ignorant too. They'll pull against the harness and bolt at the wrong times. They cause a man endless trouble. But once they realise who's boss they eventually settle down. Now and then you get an animal that won't do as it's told. It's either a loafer, or it's too unpredictable.' He shrugged. 'Such an animal is no use. It has to be shot.'
'But that's—' Belinda searched for a word which would sum up the full measure of her repugnance.
'If you give a dog a good hiding and it still doesn't behave—' he shrugged, 'that's the way it has to be,' he finished emphatically, and again made as if to go.
Belinda moved forward. She didn't know what she wanted to say. There was no point in arguing with such a man. Yet she felt a desperate need to continue the dialogue. 'Have you killed many dogs?'
Even as the words were uttered, she heard the cold contempt in her voice, and hesitated again.
But Barron at once swung into the attack. 'Oh, hundreds,' he said sarcastically. 'I'm known as the local butcher. And not just dogs,' he added dangerously. 'You must have heard of my reputation by now. After all, what is the law out here? A man can behave as he wishes. Anything goes in the name of survival.' His lips drew back in a brief, hard smile. 'You must, feel very much out of place in a country of such barbarians,' he went on contemptuously. 'Next time you must be more careful where you choose to take your annual holiday. A package deal to Disneyland would be something more in your line.'
'I—' the words of protest remained unspoken. With a sudden cry of anger, Belinda had shot out her hand before she could stop it, and hit him square and hard in the face. For a moment nothing happened. The thought flashed into her mind that she had merely dreamed it. But the tell-tale colour darkening Barron's tanned cheek, the imprint of her fingers across the side of his face, belied this fancy, and she let her breath come out in a long sigh of resignation. Now she had really done it! She realised that a man like this would have no qualms about hitting a woman. She waited, beyond fear, for some retaliation. Surely the other men would step in. They would protect her from the full brunt of his wrath. She waited. Barron was still standing erect in front of her. His eyes seemed to become hooded, his hands hung limply at his side. Slowly, as if in a dream, she noted the bunched muscles of his shoulders, the broad well-developed chest, the athletically slim waist and narrow hips, the firm masculine stance, the overall huskiness of the man.
'Oh, I'm sorry—' she breathed when at last she could speak. 'I didn't mean—' Her words tailed off. It was no good adding lies to injury. She didn't feel sorry at all. She thought he deserved it. And anyway, apologies would leave a desperado like him unmoved.
She became aware of the sounds around them—the still grizzling animals, the suddenly hushed conversation of the men as they too waited expectantly for Barron to react. She was dimly aware of one or two smiles and she groaned inwardly at the thought that this latest confrontation, built on a series of earlier incidents, was more than just an isolated event, that could be glossed over. But she stood her ground.
Barron slowly moved towards her, but her eyes rounded as, instead of raising his hand to strike her, he grasped her firmly by the shoulders and began to propel her towards the store. She tried to pull away, but like the reluctant animal he had picked out from the team, she was forced to submit to his superior strength. Without a word he half dragged, half carried her around the corner of the building out of sight of the men. Only when they were alone did he speak.
'I would like to have done this in full view of them all, but I do have some respect for convention, despite what you think.' And with that, she felt his breath on her forehead, then his lips were coming down hard on her own. With a shudder she felt the hard-packed muscles of his body crushing her against the wall of the store and with sharp little animal moans she tried frantically to break herself free. It was hopeless. Her strength was no match for his. She found she was fighting for breath, moving her head desperately from side to side, but his lips little by little increased their pressure, forcing her mouth open. Tears of humiliation began to appear in the corners of her eyes so that in a sudden access of despair she brought her teeth hard together on to his lower lip. It was a mistake. Now they were alone there was no constraint on him, and he did not hesitate to retaliate, forcing her head back against the wooden wall of the store as his powerful jaw worked bruisingly over her face, hungrily searching for some sign of response. Against her will, Belinda felt her body tremble in answer to his urgent demand. She felt her limbs turn to putty in his hands and despite herself she heard herself moaning in ecstasy against him.
After what seemed like eternity, Barron gently released her, and for a moment or two they leaned breathlessly against each other like survivors of a tornado. Slowly the reality of what had happened came sweeping in on Belinda and with a little movement she pushed him away. For a moment she was conscious of his steady gaze, the strange glitter in the depths of his blue eyes.
'Now you've got what you asked for,' his eyes mocked her. 'You didn't even have to come to my hut this time.' She felt his fingers digging into her arms and angrily tried to struggle free. 'The primitive may have a limited appeal for some. I think you're an exception to that rule.' His lips twisted into a smile.
'How dare you!' Her voice shook with hopelessly mixed emotion. She still burned from the touch of his body, but the cold mockery in his eyes stung her pride and she was swept along in a torrent of rage. 'I hate you!' she spat. 'You're the most hateful, arrogant man I've ever met!' His answer was to bring his lips crushingly down again on her own. 'Oh, Barron,' she moaned when she managed to free her mouth for a moment. 'Don't, don't! I don't want—' Her words were stopped again by his hungry lips and she gave herself to the ecstasy of the moment.
Suddenly she felt his body withdraw and his grip slackened so suddenly that she fell back abruptly against the side of the store. For a moment she was dazed and looked round in bewilderment. Barron had stepped back and there was a hard, cold gleam in his eyes. His face seemed to twist into a sneer as he gave a short, unamused laugh. 'You're so different, aren't you?' he sneered sarcastically. 'You wouldn't barter your body for anything. No!' he laughed derisively. 'You'd give it away as casually as—'
'Don't!' Her cry was high and anguished. 'I hate you! You don't know me! You're the last person I'd ever give anything to. You?' Her voice was harsh, but she was in a turmoil of pain and humiliation and longing. Not quite knowing what she was doing, she began to beat on his chest with her fists and he was so surprised it was a minute before he managed to control her flailing arms. For a moment he crushed her body up against his own again before pushing her angrily away. Tears of anger and frustration sprang into her eyes, and she stood panting before him. 'You're the most hateful man I've ever met!' she cried again.
Barron's lips curled. 'You asked for it,' he jibed. 'You've taken on more than you can cope with mixing with me. I'm not some effete boy you can play games with.'
With a little cry Belinda began to make her way, stumbling a little, with averted glance, back round the side of the building. How could she have responded so readily to the brute's hateful advances? She ran her fingers shakily through her dishevelled hair. What on earth had come over her, to behave in this idiotic manner? Now he would despise her even more. And with just cause, she thought grimly, allowing him to do that, roughly and
without feeling, like an animal. Burning waves of self-disgust brought bright colour to her cheeks.
She walked reluctantly to where the men were still chatting, her eyes downcast. Fortunately they were occupied with their dogs and she noted dully that the shot animal was still lying where it had fallen. With a shudder of confused emotion she began to make her way back up the path to the house. So much for the energetic walk she had planned in order to take her mind off things! Now her thoughts were once again thrown into a turmoil by this man. Without looking back she made her way up to the house.
It was three days later that word at last came through from the charter company. Chuck was already on his way. All being well, he should touch down later that morning. Belinda eyed the landing strip with trepidation from her vantage point at the kitchen window. There was certainly no problem with mud now. After the heavy rainfall soon after her arrival, the weather had been bitterly cold with a continuous heavy frost. Already the ground was hardened like rock and gave a foretaste of the winter to come. The packed earth of the landing strip was like concrete now. The previous three days had been spent in constant nervous activity, checking and double-checking the equipment they were to take out to Sanderson's claim. Belinda had decided to take her recording equipment just in case they should strike lucky at once, and there was also a supply of provisions should they have to fall back on their own resources. Standard emergency rations, Mac told her. It was with much anxiety that she now contemplated the journey—not only because Sanderson's place wasn't even a dot on the map, but because the latest incident with Barron had thoroughly unnerved her. Suddenly the vulnerability of her position in this lawless country had begun to dawn on her. Difficult though it was to fathom Barron's motives in so humiliating her, it was not pleasant to contemplate what might have happened in different circumstances when his passions might not have been so easily restrained by the presence of other men.