Білий ікол
The Trail of the Meat
Thepalelightoftheshortsunlessdaywasbeginningtofade,whenafaintfarcryaroseonthestillair. Itsoaredupwardwithaswiftrush,tillitreacheditstopmostnote,whereitpersisted,palpitantandtense,andthenslowlydiedaway. Itmighthavebeenalostsoulwailing,haditnotbeeninvestedwithacertainsadfiercenessandhungryeagerness. Thefrontmanturnedhisheaduntilhiseyesmettheeyesofthemanbehind. Andthen,acrossthenarrowoblongbox,eachnoddedtotheother.
Asecondcryarose,piercingthesilencewithneedle-likeshrillness. Bothmenlocatedthesound. Itwastotherear,somewhereinthesnowexpansetheyhadjusttraversed. Athirdandansweringcryarose,alsototherearandtotheleftofthesecondcry. "They’reafterus,Bill,"saidthemanatthefront.
Hisvoicesoundedhoarseandunreal,andhehadspokenwithapparenteffort.
"Meatisscarce,"answeredhiscomrade. "Iain’tseenarabbitsignfordays."
Thereaftertheyspokenomore,thoughtheirearswerekeenforthehunting-criesthatcontinuedtorisebehindthem.
Atthefallofdarknesstheyswungthedogsintoaclusterofsprucetreesontheedgeofthewaterwayandmadeacamp. Thecoffin,atthesideofthefire,servedforseatandtable. Thewolf-dogs,clusteredonthefarsideofthefire,snarledandbickeredamongthemselves,butevincednoinclinationtostrayoffintothedarkness.
"Seemstome,Henry,they’restayin’remarkableclosetocamp,"Billcommented.
Henry,squattingoverthefireandsettlingthepotofcoffeewithapieceofice,nodded.
