If she were being brutally honest, her shares in the Niniltna Native a.s.sociation didn't mean tribal pride or self-determination or land ownership. No, what the Niniltna Native a.s.sociation meant most to her was the quarterly dividend that landed in her mailbox four times a year. That dividend meant food, fuel, new jeans when the knees on the old ones ripped out, money for taxes and vehicle registration and insurance. She owned her house and her land outright, but all those things cost money to support and maintain. Her job paid well, sometimes very well indeed, but she only had on average half a dozen jobs a year, and the amount of the a.s.sociation quarterly dividend was often an essential cushion between paychecks.

She went back inside and donned long Johns, cotton, wool, and felt socks, down bibs, down jacket, parka, and Sorels.

Speaking of money, now she had Johnny to provide for.

Look out for Johnny for me, okay? It was very nearly the last thing Jack had said to her. Johnny was all she had left to her of Jack Morgan. And h.e.l.l-tell the truth again-she loved the boy for himself, and she wanted the best for him. He had to have an education. Since he'd been with her, her quarterly dividends had been going directly into his college fund. It was very nearly the last thing Jack had said to her. Johnny was all she had left to her of Jack Morgan. And h.e.l.l-tell the truth again-she loved the boy for himself, and she wanted the best for him. He had to have an education. Since he'd been with her, her quarterly dividends had been going directly into his college fund.

Johnny was another black hole, sucking in every worry and fear she had. Adolescence was the worst time in anyone's life, when the body betrayed the comparatively stable twelve previous years and erupted suddenly in every direction, things popping out, things dropping down, voices changing, hair changing, hormones launching an all-out attack, no mercy, no quarter, no prisoners. It was quite literally an outrage, physically, mentally, and emotionally, and it went on for years, during which life existed at either the zenith or the nadir, occupying no middle ground and offering no peace. It was exhausting just to think about it. All too well did Kate remember being at the mercy of a body that would not leave her alone. It was good that she and Ekaterina had come to an understanding about Kate living on her own at the homestead, because otherwise they might have killed each other.

So far, Johnny seemed reasonably sane, although there had been something worrying at him lately, leading to long, abstracted silences. She made every effort to give him as much s.p.a.ce and privacy as he needed, in hopes that he would voluntarily tell her what it was. In the meantime, she stewed over the cause. Vanessa, maybe? Girlfriends were tough.

Not as tough as boyfriends, though. Not near as.

In the pantry she loaded the pockets of her parka with dried dates, dried apricots, tamari almonds, and roasted pecans. She didn't know how long this was going to take and she might need fuel herself before she found them.

She went back outside and rechecked the lines on the drum, Mutt trotting behind her, ears p.r.i.c.ked, tail wagging, as always ready to go anywhere, anytime. A scattered overcast allowed some stars to peer down at her. Her breath was a white cloud in the cold air.

"I did turn off the stove," she said.

Mutt looked up at her, tail slowing.

"I did," Kate said. "I did turn off that G.o.dd.a.m.n stove."

Jim had started coming for her, and she had known what was going to happen, every cell in her body sounding the alarm.

Not just the alarm. If she had really fought him, he would have stopped. If she had said no and meant it, he would have stopped. If she had raised so much as a wooden spoon in his direction, he would have stopped in his tracks. No, it wasn't only alarm she had been feeling, as events upstairs had demonstrated very shortly thereafter. d.a.m.n him, anyway.

"I just didn't see it lasting this long," she said to Mutt.

Mutt, realizing that departure had been delayed indefinitely, sat down with a martyred air.

Kate sat down on the seat of the snow machine. "He was supposed to be long gone by now, history, conspicuous by his absence. But he's still here."

Mutt gave her a bored look. Obviously. "Why? Is it just the s.e.x?"

Which was a considerable factor, given the intensity of their latest encounter, and which led to a whole other worry. Pa.s.sion, according to conventional wisdom and Cosmopolitan, Cosmopolitan, was supposed to wane as the relationship aged. They had gone at each other like minks that first year, but while subsequently the frequency had decreased the intensity had remained, whether Jim took her by storm at night or she launched a surprise seduction before he had his eyes open in the morning. was supposed to wane as the relationship aged. They had gone at each other like minks that first year, but while subsequently the frequency had decreased the intensity had remained, whether Jim took her by storm at night or she launched a surprise seduction before he had his eyes open in the morning.

"You know what the problem is?" she said to Mutt. "I like him. I really like him. He's smart, he's funny, he's good at his job." She thought for a moment and added, a little doubtfully, "Everybody tells me he's gorgeous. I guess he is. But you know eye candy's never been enough for me." She thought of Jack, whose blunt, irregular features had looked like something chipped off the cornice at Notre Dame, and smiled a little. No, she could accuse herself of many things, but falling for a pretty face wasn't one of them.

Mutt, impatient, thumped Kate's leg with her head.

"You're right," Kate said, and welcomed the rush of antic.i.p.ation that washed out all misgivings and indecision. Action was what was needed to shake the cobwebs out, hard, fast action, a fight for the right, without question or pause. "Let's get a move on, girlfriend."

She mounted the snowgo, pressed the starter, waited for Mutt to jump up on the seat behind, and lit out of the clearing as if Raven himself was on her tail.

It took three days to smoke them out.

On the way through town she stopped for a late-night coffee at the Riverside Cafe in Niniltna, telling Laurel Meganack where she was going and what she was doing in a full, carrying voice, her words falling on a dozen pairs of eager and, she hoped, fertile ears.

Her next stop was the store, where Cindy was just closing. She bought a package of Oreos and told her all about it, too.

At the Roadhouse, Jim had left, and Kate marched back up to the bar and ordered the usual. Conversation ensued, in the course of which Kate let it be known, again in a carrying voice, that she was delivering fuel over the next week to some of the shut-ins along the river. Bernie continued noncommittal and subdued. In the corner, the aunties sewed industriously without looking her way. Old Sam, attention fixed on the slamming and dunking going on on the big screen overhead, nevertheless spared her a sharp glance. His shrewd eye lingered as the door closed behind her, before looking over at the aunties' table. None of them would meet his eye, either. He nodded as if their inaction had confirmed a profoundly unpleasant inner thought, and returned his attention to the screen.

That first night she camped on the bank of the river a mile north of Double Eagle, almost exactly at the spot where the attack on the Kaltaks had taken place. She and Mutt pa.s.sed an unfortunately peaceful evening in the tent, a wood fire a safe distance in front of the flap built high enough to illuminate the loaded sled, the barrel casting a long and come-hither shadow.

The next day they trolled the river with the drum as bait, up and down the frozen expanse between Tikani and Red Run, stopping at every cabin and village on the way south. Some of them were surprised to see her again this soon but they all made her welcome.

That night they camped in a willow thicket at the mouth of the Gruening River. The next morning Kate watched the light come up on the tent wall, thinking. Mutt, a warm, solid presence next to her, stretched, groaned, and pressed a cold nose to Kate's cheek, indicating a pressing need to be on the other side of the tent flap.

Oatmeal with raisins and a couple of too-slow parky squirrels for breakfast, and they broke camp and repeated the previous day's route, north again to Niniltna and on to Tikani and almost to Louis Deem's homestead, where she could have stopped in to check on Willard, but she didn't.

Another disappointingly unmolested day with minimal traffic on the frozen length of the Kanuyaq. "Okay," Kate said at dusk. "Inland it is."

Mutt agreed, and they moved off the river.

Kate had spent the hours before dawn that morning running down the various options, snug and warm in a down sleeping bag rated to forty below placed on top of a thick foam pad, watching the vapor of her breath form a layer of frost on the inside of the tent. She'd slept deep and dreamlessly the night before. The best soporific was always a cold nose. The memory of last night's meal, moose steak, biscuits and gravy, followed by stewed rhubarb, lingered pleasantly on palate and belly, and a delicate odor of wood smoke told her that the campfire she had banked the night before was ready to be blown into flame at a moment's notice. There was nothing quite as life-affirming as a successful winter's camping trip. If she hadn't been on a mission, she would have been enjoying herself.

If, as she suspected, the Johansens had been, ah, temporarily discouraged from further attacks, her last trip to Tikani had confirmed that they had not gone home to lick their wounds. But, like Jim, neither did she believe that they would have left the Park. There was no need. To the uninitiated, the Park might appear to be twenty million acres of frozen wasteland, devoid of sustenance or shelter, but those who lived there knew better.

No. She had known however b.l.o.o.d.y and bowed the Johansen brothers might have been, they were still in the Park, providing they were still alive. The attack on Daly proved that they were both. And she finally had a pretty good idea where they'd gone to ground. She couldn't believe it had taken her this long to figure it out.

Ranger Dan's Park headquarters were on what the Park rats called the Step, a long bluff about four thousand feet high that meandered south along the western edge of the Quilak Mountains. Where the bluff finally disappeared, the foothills got higher and more rugged and far less pa.s.sable, even to snow machines. But there were ways in, especially if you'd been raised by a crotchety Alaskan old fart who'd spent Prohibition on the back of first a dogsled and later one of the first snow machines imported into the Park finding a route through the Quilak Mountains into Canada for the purposes of stocking the liquor cabinet. From a few remarks the aunties had let drop over the years, Kate believed that Abel might well have been the Park's first bootlegger.

South of where the Step ended and deep into the foothills but not quite into the Quilaks themselves, hidden in a narrow canyon with an entrance at right angles to itself that from a distance gave the illusion of an impenetrable wall, a geothermal spring bubbled up out of the ground. The water was a pleasant ninety degrees and never froze, not even in winter. Its flow formed a chain of small ponds, one emptying into another down the little canyon, the last pond draining into some invisible underground fissure, not to surface again, or not in the Park.

Very few people knew about these hot springs, and even the ones who did didn't get there often because it was so far from anywhere and it was so difficult to find. Poking around the Quilaks in winter was not a formula for longevity.

At the head of the canyon, next to the first pool, someone had knocked together a cabin from rough-cut logs. It had been pretty tumbledown the last time Kate had seen it, but if the roof hadn't fallen in it would provide adequate shelter, and the springs would be good for any aches and pains the Johansens might or might not be suffering. If they had enough food, they could hole up there indefinitely.

It was a long, cold drive into the foothills, and she lost her way twice and had to retrace their steps, first out of a box canyon that dead-ended on the west-facing and nearly vertical slope of one of the Quilaks, and second off of a narrow, twisting creek whose ice boomed ominously beneath the tread of her snow machine every five feet. Mutt got off and trotted a good ten feet away after the second boom. "Et tu, Mutt?" Kate said, and Mutt gave her a look that said plainly, You'll be happy when you go in that I'm right here, ready to pull you out. You'll be happy when you go in that I'm right here, ready to pull you out.

Kate didn't go in, though, and once on the bank again, Mutt remounted without any further backseat commentary and they were off again.

It had been a long time since she'd been to the springs, and snow and ice were adept at disguising even the most distinctive landmark. The wind had swept the snow smooth of tracks, and Kate was working on by guess or by G.o.d when she stumbled onto the correct trail pretty much by accident. It was well past dark by then, and Kate stopped before she went around the last dogleg into the canyon itself.

She looked up at the sky. No stars. She pulled back the hood of her parka and tested the air on her face. Her weather sense, while by no means infallible, was usually pretty good. It didn't feel like it was going to snow, not quite yet. She refueled the snow machine by means of a hand pump, estimated the contents of the barrel, and recalculated a point of no return, when she would have to start heading for Niniltna so she could get there without running out of gas. She was cutting it close, she decided, but not by too much, and bagged and stowed the pump.

She pointed the snow machine toward the canyon's entrance and unhitched the sled. She didn't expect to be chased out of the canyon-in fact, she was determined not to be-but there was no sense in not being careful. In that same spirit, she tarped both sled and machine, lashing the tarps down loosely, using running loops that would give with a yank if she had to leave in a hurry. Just because it didn't feel like snow didn't mean it wouldn't.

She buckled her snowshoes on over her boots and said to Mutt in a quiet, firm voice, pointing, "By me."

She gave Mutt a hard look and said it again. "By me, Mutt." Mutt's yellow eyes narrowed and she gave a hard look back, but she did not stray from Kate's side as Kate set out.

The last dogleg in the canyon was an abrupt, narrow vee, where in one spot erosion or maybe an earthquake had knocked down part of the canyon wall. In summer, it was a tumble of sharp-edged and unexpectedly and treacherously mobile boulders, impa.s.sable by anyone who wasn't wearing steel plate armor and chain mail gloves. In winter, beneath a continually replenished layer of snow that was steadily being packed down, it was by comparison an interstate highway, albeit with one h.e.l.l of a grade. Kate took her time, stopping often to breathe before her heart burst out of her chest. She also took a moment to be proud of her foresight in purchasing a new pair of lightweight snowshoes, rectangular ovals of hollow metal with a continuous strap that zigzagged across her foot from toe to instep to heel, fastened with three quick-release plastic buckles. They certainly weighed less than the old wooden ones, and were narrow enough that she didn't waddle like a penguin when she wore them. When she wasn't climbing a mountain in them, they even gave her a fairly good turn of speed.

While she was thus congratulating herself the boulder slope flattened into a tiny saddle, the other side of which looked down on the steaming ponds of the hot springs, small, dark, l.u.s.trous pools nestled in perfect snowy settings, joined one to the other like a string of black pearls displayed on a rich rumple of white velvet. At the head of the canyon she was mildly surprised to see the log cabin still standing, and was further heartened when she saw smoke wisping from the rudimentary rock chimney.

There was no one stirring outside the cabin but she lay down on her stomach anyway and wriggled forward until she had a panoramic view. She fished out the binoculars residing in one of the parka's inside pockets, where they would stay warm for use. They were anti-frost, anti-fog, digital day and night vision, and effective over three hundred yards, which view had cost her almost two dollars a yard. Not one penny of which did she grudge when through the lenses and the inexorable onset of the dark Arctic night the individual logs of the cabin sprang into view, revealing that much of the moss and mud c.h.i.n.king between the logs had dried up and fallen out. She could actually see inside the cabin from here, at least in places. It reminded her of Vidar's ramshackle cabin in Tikani, and she was p.i.s.sed off all over again.

It was only marginally lighter inside the cabin than it was outside, a sullen glow coming from what appeared to be a stove crafted from the black curve of what was probably a fifty-five-gallon drum. A shadow moved and she jerked involuntarily. Mutt started, too, and then whuffed out a breath and gave her a reproachful look.

"Sorry," Kate said, her voice barely above a whisper, and looked through the binoculars again.

The shadow was a dark, bulky figure, which moved out of sight after a moment. What might have been a pair of legs were stuffed into a sleeping bag, whose owner might be leaning into a corner. That's where she'd be, too, given how well ventilated the cabin was, her back tucked into a corner she'd padded with her sleeping bag and probably anything else she had on hand.

She didn't see a third man. She scanned the area outside, and identified various mounds of new-fallen snow that might be hiding snow machines and sleds. There appeared to be a well-trodden path around the back, where she dimly remembered there was an outhouse.

To pee, all men had to do was hang it out the front door and shake afterward. Women required at minimum a bush and, best-case scenario, toilet paper. But sooner or later, everyone had to take a dump, and there nature had leveled the playing field. It was one of the reasons the pa.s.sing of the Sears catalog had occasioned more mourning across all genders in Alaska than anywhere else in the world.

An hour later she'd worked her way around behind the cabin, mostly on her belly, leaving her snowshoes on the saddle. For once she d.a.m.ned the silence of the great unknown, sure that every accidental crunch of snow, every rasp of spruce bough over her parka was resounding off the walls of the cabin like the gong of a temple bell. But no one called out in alarm or came to the door, and she hunkered down against the back wall of the outhouse to wait. It had developed an ominous tilt to starboard and Mutt wrinkled her nose at the smell, a sentiment Kate heartily if silently endorsed. At least at this time of year there were no flies. She only hoped the d.a.m.n thing didn't fall over before someone came out to use it.

There were fewer c.h.i.n.ks in this more sheltered wall of the cabin, so she couldn't see inside as well when she peeped around the corner of the outhouse. She heard the occasional murmur of voices, and eventually sorted them into three distinct ident.i.ties. It was enough to keep her there, muscles slowly atrophying from inaction and cold. She was grateful for the warm weight of Mutt, leaning against her, impervious to the snow and the cold.

Finally, after an hour or so, there was the sound of a heavy tread from inside the cabin, a corresponding protesting groan from the floor, a toe hitting something and kicking it across the room, a stumble and a curse, and then a creak and a thump as the dilapidated door was wrenched open. The crunch of footsteps in the snow came around the cabin and directly for the outhouse Kate and Mutt were crouched behind.

The door to the outhouse creaked open and slammed shut again, bouncing a couple of times on a door spring that sounded as if it were on its last legs. There followed a rustle of clothing, the sound of flesh smacking down on wood, and a "Jeeeeesus Key-rist, that's cold." The outhouse as a whole gave an ominous creak.

Mutt looked at Kate with eyes that shone bright even in the dark. Kate opened her mouth and leaned her head back, took a deep breath, and at the top of her lungs let out with an "Oooooh ooooh oooooooh!"

Mutt didn't think much of this imitation wolf howl, and she leaped to her feet and raised her muzzle to the sky to show Kate how it was really done. "OuououOUOOOOOOOOH!"

Wolves howling miles away were scary enough. It wasn't fun when you were right next to one putting her all into it, even when you were expecting it. Kate couldn't imagine what it sounded like on the other side of the aging and insubstantial wall of an outhouse in the middle of nowhere where you were sitting with your pants down around your ankles, very probably, or so Kate hoped, unarmed.

"Holy s.h.i.t!" the man in the outhouse cried. There was sudden movement from inside, punctuated by a thud when he leaped to his feet. The outhouse shuddered and protested again. "Ouch! f.u.c.k! Ick! Ick, do you hear that! Ick, there's a wolf out here!"

There were more thuds and then the door slammed back with a crash. Something fell off the outhouse with a loud thud. Against her back Kate felt it lean over a little more.

"Ick, get the rifle, get the f.u.c.king rifle!"

From the cabin came a series of startled shouts and thuds and b.u.mps and crashes. Kate motioned to Mutt and crept around to the front of the outhouse.

"Ou-ou-ouoooWOOOOOOO!" Mutt said.

"Get that f.u.c.king rifle out here, Ick! Gus! Help!"

The door to the outhouse crashed back and Daedalus Johansen stood in the opening.

"Hey, Dead," Kate said. "Your fly's open."

He gaped at her and she dropped to the snow, catching herself on her right hand, and hooked a foot behind one of his ankles and rolled, catching both his ankles in both of hers. Off guard, off balance, and tender parts well on their way to being frostbitten, he toppled backward, one wildly floundering arm catching the door frame to arrest his fall only partially. When he hit the rim of the toilet seat the outhouse groaned another protest and teetered another couple of inches to starboard.

Kate was instantly on her feet. She grabbed both his hands and slipped a plastic tie over his wrists with the end already thoughtfully threaded through the clasp. She yanked on the free end and it tightened up instantly and very nicely indeed.

It was great when a plan worked out.

Dead stared at his bound hands in stupefaction. "What the f.u.c.k?"

The door to the cabin crashed open. Kate looked at Mutt and signaled. "Go."

Mutt went around one side of the cabin and Kate went around the other, just in time to see Gus and Icarus Johansen emerge, jostling each other in the doorway to be first to their brother's aid. Both were holding rifles. Ick was facing Kate, Gus behind him, and behind Gus Mutt let loose with another chilling howl. "Ou-ou-ouooooooooo!"

"f.u.c.k!" Ick said, or maybe he screamed. "Shoot it, Gus, shoot it!"

And then he saw Kate. After one incredulous second, his shoulders slumped. "Oh, f.u.c.k me," he said.

Mutt jumped Gus and his rifle went flying. Gus fell backward on Ick, who stumbled and fell to one knee. Kate took one step forward, got a toe beneath the stock of his rifle, kicked it out of his hands and into the air, and caught it neatly before it hit the ground. She raised it smoothly to her shoulder, looking down the sights at Ick's face, lit reasonably well from the sullen glow of the fire streaming out the open door of the cabin. Some part of her noticed that Ick had a shiner to rival Matt Grosdidier's, two of them, in fact. "Kate?" Ick said. "Kate Shugak?"

"Ou-ou-ouOOOOOOOOO!" Mutt said, standing with her paws on Gus's shoulders and sharp, gleaming teeth right down in Gus's face. Gus seemed incapable of either speech or movement. A moment later the acrid smell of urine filled the air.

"And that'd be Mutt," Ick said.

Dead came shuffling around the corner of the cabin, wrists still bound in front of him, pants down around his ankles, weenie wagging in the wind and accompanied by a strong smell of excrement. "Ick? Gus? Are you okay? What the h.e.l.l's going on?"

From behind the cabin came a long, descendiary groan, followed by an even louder, splintering crash.

Ick Johansen started to laugh.

Kate raised her right foot. "Do you like your teeth where they are, Ick?"

Ick stopped laughing and started to whine. "Ah, c'mon, Kate. It's funny."

"You know what isn't funny?" Kate said. "Your dad, starving to death in his own cabin because his a.s.shole brats can't be bothered to feed him." She could feel her hands tightening on the stock of the rifle, and the smile faded from Ick's face.

Mutt's head raised from Gus's throat, ears p.r.i.c.king. From the next mountain over came the lonesome, faraway cry of a wolf. There was another, and then another, until the pack was in full chorus. It also sounded like it was coming in their direction.

Kate looked back down at Ick, and even in the faint light cast through the cabin door she could see him start to sweat. Like all Park rats, he'd heard the story about Kate Shugak and the bootlegger. "Jesus, Kate, you wouldn't. C'mon."

She had zip-strips for Ick and Gus, too, and she used them. She picked up Gus's rifle and tossed it into the nearest pool, where it made a muted splash. Ick's rifle followed. "Mutt," she said. "Guard."

Mutt returned her attention to Gus and snapped agreement, canines gleaming. Gus whimpered.

Kate turned and headed down the little canyon.

Ick's voice followed her out of the clearing. "Kate? C'mon, Kate! Come back here! Jesus, you can't leave us like this, Kate! At least leave us a rifle! Kate! Kate! KATE!" KATE!"

TWENTY-THREE.