food to keep warm.'
'I promise,' said Con.
'Good,' said Joe. He went to the bag of smoked meat and pulled out two pieces. 'I'll believe you when you eat these.'
Con nibbled at the meat at first, but soon she aban-doned the pretense that she wasn't hungry and wolfed the rest down.
When Con finished eating, she, Joe, and Rick made their last-minute preparations for the journey. Con slipped on a sock she had made from a scrap of poncho over the socks on her sandaled foot. They placed their extra clothing in a single duffel bag. The load was small because they were wearing most of their clothes already. They packed the meat spit and its holder along with the pot. Rick secured the meat supply to a travois, then cov-ered it with conifer bough bedding. The rest of the sup-plies had been previously loaded. They wrapped rag scarves around their heads, and Con handed out mittens she had made from socks stuffed with feathers. Joe slung the gun over his back. Everyone grabbed a spear. It was time to leave. As they left the canyon, each made their good-bye in their own way. Con made hers with quiet tears.
The dim light and the falling snow made it hard to see very far, not that there was much to look at. The fire and the flood that followed it had scoured the land of all but a few blackened stumps. Even those were disappearing beneath snow. The view had the bleak sterility of the arctic. The brown river marking the way to the sea was the most prominent landmark in this austere, trackless country. Following it was not difficult. The snow was not yet deep, and it aided them in dragging the travoises over the hardening ground.
They walked for several hours before stopping to eat and rest. Afterward, they continued their journey. They left the valley behind them as they crossed an open plain. There, fire had also cleared the land. The few trees they encountered had been reduced to blackened trunks, stand-ing like lonely monoliths in an abandoned graveyard. Several hours passed before they saw another brown line in the distance to their left.
'Damn,' said Rick, 'a tributary! We're trapped in the fork.'
'Looks like a detour,' said Joe.
'Maybe not,' said Rick. 'Let's take a look.'
Within fifteen minutes, they were standing by the other river. It was only sixty feet across and flowed sluggishly. Rick paced along its bank, studying the river carefully. 'It doesn't look too deep,' he said finally.
'It looks deep enough,' replied Joe.
'Only one way to find out,' said Rick. 'Con, could you look the other way?' He removed his shoes and placed them on a travois.
'Why? What are you doing?' asked Con.
'I'm going to find out if the river's fordable, and I can't risk getting my clothes wet.'
'Con,' said Joe, 'don't look at this crazy man. Rick, have you gone nuts?'
'It might take us two days to get back to this spot if we make a detour,' said Rick. 'I'd rather walk twenty yards through the water.'
Rick grabbed a spear and waded into the water naked. When he was midstream, the water reached halfway up his chest. It got shallower as he approached the far bank. When it was clear that there were no deep sections near the bank, he turned around and headed toward Con and Joe. Rick was shivering violently by the time he reached the shore. He quickly dried himself with a shirt he had set aside for the purpose then, just as quickly, dressed.
'We can do this,' Rick said.
'Do what?' said Joe. 'Get buck-ass and wade in the river? I don't think so.'
'Listen to my plan first,' said Rick. 'We can rig two travoises like a stretcher so you and I can carry every-thing high and dry in one load. We'll build a fire on the far shore before Con crosses.'
'She's supposed to cross naked, too?' said Joe. 'No way!'
'If the nightstalkers are tracking us, the river will stop them,' said Rick.
'Seems like your theories on nightstalkers are very flexible,' said Joe. 'Yesterday, you said we were leaving them behind.'
'I'll cross,' said Con. 'If you promise not to look.'
