Sunday, October 18, 1868. Afternoon.
Phillips Harbour.
Nothing terribly interesting happened to Yotee on Saturday, but according to the rumor mill, other people were more fortunate (or less so, depending on how you define "fortunate"). One of the many fascinating objects the Englishman brought to Phillips Harbour was apparently a flying machine, which by all reports he'd intended to fly on Saturday morning. His plans were dashed along with the flying machine's balloon by some kind of attack during the night. What, exactly, did the attacking is a matter of some debate: rumors range from "pack of wild dogs" to "rabid lone wolf" to "grizzly bear" to "avenging spirits" -- and get stranger from there. The Englishman didn't witness the attack, although his chimpanzee was there. The fate of the chimp isn't clear; on that point, rumors range between "died during the attack" to "went rabid and had to be put down" to "barely scratched".
This kind of fun hasn't been dogging Yotee's steps, however. The afternoon is cold and damp, although not yet rainy, and the coyote is ambling through the old deciduous forest, looking for trouble. As he pads beneath a canopy of gold and orange leaves, he spots a familiar shape pawing at the ground: Mix, the half-Indian trapper's dog.
The coyote stops mid step with one paw raised. His ears perk up! His tail wags as he contemplates the best way to start this re-union. Oh, why choose subtlty. He barks! Mix! Mix! How are you? Yotee pads forward, already making plans to investigate and claim whatever the dog has dug up.
At the greeting, the large dog turns slowly in the coyote's direction. His face is sombre but his eyes lighten a bit when he spots Yotee coming towards him. Hey, wilder. Been a while! I'm just... The dog pauses, looks a little lost, then chuffs sadly. Just following my man's scent. You kin see some of his blood here.
As Yotee gets closer, it's not obvious what the mutt is digging at, or for. Dry, crumbly leaves are mixed with old mulched ones in little piles around his immediate vicinity.
Yotee sniffs, trying for a scent, finally pressing his nose to the ground and breathing in strongly. It's there, an old scent, faded, but Whitehorse's, down to the little tinge of whiskey. There is no blood apparent to the coyote's eyes. You've been apart for a while? Need help? Yotee pokes around in the leaves some more.
Mix paws at the spot for a few seconds more before giving up the task and turning to watch Yotee. He's been gone two days, but...I don't think I'm gonna find him alive. Still, I just need to see him. Then I guess I kin figger out what to do next. He looks off in the distance. I lost his trail at the river, so I've been back-tracking to see if I could smell anything new that would lead me to him. Help would be good. I'm betting yer nose is sharper than mine.
I'll help you find him. Yotee avoids giving any false hope or confirmation for the mutt's suspicions. He's also not sure how much help he'll be, he's not a trapper's dog with a lot of experience. He doesn't need to track that often, being a scavenger, though that does make him better at finding dead things... which hopefully that won't be the skill that comes into play. The coyote tries to be positive, Lets try at the river where you lost the scent.
Mix gets to his feet and, almost experimentally, shakes some of the mud from his coat. His ears splay back against his skull. Sounds good. Just don't get too ahead of me. I'm not so fast on my feet right now. Got knocked around a bit, still trying to sleep it off. Then he lopes off in the direction of the river.
What'd you do, fight a bear? Yotee trails behind the bigger dog, his head casting from side to side as follows, checking for anything interesting or useful that Mix might have overlooked. He glances at the sky, or what he can see of it through the canopy of leaves. This isn't the desert, he won't be able to cheat by following the vultures.
The forest has that quiet, muffled quality that this part of the woods usually has; the canine's feet don't make much rustling, even through dry leaves. The sky visible through the leaves is grey and streakd with thin, striated clouds. No birds seem to be about.
Mix snuffles the ground for any new scents before replying. Didn't look like a bear, but was as big as one. More like wolf - but a strange kind. One I'd never smelled before. She leapt right on my man and ignored me...well, right up until I got 'er by the leg.
Yotee's ears flick, for any stray sounds, and to follow Mix's story. Strange how? You came upon her or she attacked? Was your man setting traps?
Mix chuffs low in his chest. We were out checkin' his rabbit traps and found some of 'em broken. He was cussin' and sortin' through the peices by the time I sniffed her out. Had to bark and growl up a storm before he noticed something was wrong. Only got his stick halfway up to his shoulder before she was on 'im.
The coyote has to strain to catch the scent on the ground, the iron and whiskey smell of Whitehorse's blood. The track is probably two days old, and it drizzled yesterday. The half-Indian man must've been bleeding a lot to leave as much of a trail as still remains. Mix, on the other hand, is having no trouble tracking it back to the river.
Yotee is definitely relying on his friend's experience here, often losing the faint evidence and only regaining it by following Mix's path. How did it end, how did you get separated?
Mix slows his pace so as to converse better with Yotee. I charged 'er once but she knocked me back just as easy as if I'd'a still been a pup. Then I got a hold of one of her hindlegs and just hung on for my life. She was cussin' at me, too - callin' me all kindsa names, like 'traitor' and 'fool' and suchlike. Then she just said she forgave me 'cause it wasn't my fault. After that, she knocked me against a tree trunk and everything got all fuzzy. Had ta let go then.
Big as her pride then, yeh. I don't care for wolves when they're coming at you starving and upset that you can find food where they can't. Yotee keeps looking around, in case Whitehorse dropped something, or some other evidence got caught up on branches and the trees they're passing. Mix's story doesn't sound like there's a happy ending, but Yotee is holding out for the river. It can take you places when you can't move, a last ditch escape. He sniffs the air to see how close they are. She say anything useful? What next?
Mix had set a brisk pace earlier, and the river smells close. With his ears pricked, Yotee can hear the rushing of water -- that isn't muffled by the odd quality of the forest here.
When everything started to clear up again, something strange did happen - well, stranger than a gettin' attacked by a wolf the size of a bear that didn't smell right. The dog's left ear swivels to the side in an almost philosophical fasion. I heard somethin' else talking to the she-wolf. Couldn't see it, though. It asked if all that had really been necessary and the wolf said that it was, 'cause Oldman had been the death of their cause too many times. Whatever that means. Huh!
Yotee growls, There's a bunch a people in town playing a game, and seems that involves killin' folk too. Sounds like she figures she's on the losing side and your man was involved somehow. The coyote pushes forward, looking for the river. What spot did you lose his scent at?
Mix turns confused golden-brown eyes on the coyote. Game? All this bloodshed for a game? Damnfool humans, doesn't seem right ta me! And more fool the creatures for gettin' involved in it! He paces around in a circle, growling, trying to work off some of his anger and hurt. Then he stops, snuffles the air again, and leads Yotee over to a small clump of bramble-bushes a few feet from the river's bank. Here. Last bit of scent I could find.
The bushes look a little worse for wear, with branches bent and broken as if something heavy had been dragged over them and bent them towards the river before they snapped back into their former place. The bank is steep here, with a drop of a few feet before the water.
Yeh, the docks was tore up by something fierce last night, and I think that was a part of it too. A pack of wolves, or just one big one, maybe the same one you saw. Yotee pads over to the brambles, sticking his head beneath them and sniffing around, looking for anything caught and any evidence that might have survived the rain. He looks at the closest spot to the river. Looks like he went over, easiest way to find him might be to jump in. You follow on the shore.
Once again, the coyote leaps before he looks.
Mix jumps to the edge of the bank as the coyote dives right in. Careful! You get swept away and I'm gonna have a devilish time getting you back!
Splash!
The river runs several feet deep here; Yotee doesn't have the momentum to hit bottom before he bouys back to the surface. The water is cold, however, icy liquid stabbing straight through fur and skin to chill his bones.
C...c... cold! Yotee barks and sputters as his head breaks the surface. He paddles hard, trying to keep afloat and generate some heat. His second thoughts are arriving. He fights the chill and lets the current carry him, looking for any signs of Whitehorse along the shore... or under water.
Mix follows Yotee's progress on the riverbank, keeping abreast of him as best he can. Shout if you find anything, or need pullin' out! Don't want to lose you, too!
The current's not swift through here, and Yotee doesn't have any trouble keeping on top of it. It slowly tugs him downstream. As he ducks his head under water to look, he spots something out of place on the bed near the far side of the river. It's not a man, but it's man-made: something long, with a gleam of metal to it. The barrel of a rifle?
Man-made is enough to try for it. Yotee swims hard, fighting to get to it. As he lunges for air he gasps again. S..something! The stick! He dives, hoping to retrieve it.
The dog on the shore cocks his ears forward at Yotee's barking, then goes right up to the edge of the water where he dived under, ready to pull out either the coyote or his man's stick, or both.
A few moments pass, with Yotee vanished beneath the surface of the river. Mix can't do much to help on this side, as the coyote's swum to the far side to retrieve it. As the mutt starts to fret, pacing a little, Yotee's head breaks the surface again. The barrel of the rifle is clutched between his jaws, water streaming down its butt.
Mix yelps in relief to see the coyote's head appear above water again. Hold on, I'm comin' over! Then he jumps into the icy water, slowly yet surely navigating the current to swim over to his friend. While Yotee holds onto the rifle, Mix takes him by the scruff of the neck and pulls him toward the nearer shore.
Yotee strains, swimming with the rifle. He's only so big, and the cold isn't helping. He pushes for the nearest shore. Maybe Whitehorse climbed out there, he certainly wants to. Swimming back across the river isn't something Yotee wants to attempt, and even that close shore is difficult. It's that rotten cold, stabbing through his fur like a driven nail; he welcomes Mix's teeth on his scruff, and the assistance to shore.
With some effort, the bigger dog is able to drag his friend, dripping and frigid, onto shore again. They're on the west side of the river now. The gun feel cold and slimy against Yotee's tongue.
Yotee drags the gun out of the water, dropping it on the bank. He shakes, sending a chill spray out from his fur. He paws at the gun once, then immediately starts looking around for signs of someone exiting the water. May... maybe he came out here. Yotee shivers.
The dog makes sure that Yotee is settled firmly onto dry land, then steps away a few paces to shake himself off and not splatter the other canid. He winces and staggers a bit from the pain this causes his injuries from the she-wolf, but recovers and walks over to nose his friend. Could be. We can have a look around in a bit. You all right?
I'm okay. Yotee shivers, he might start sneezing tomorrow, but for the moment he's as good as... well brass at least. He sniffs the rifle first, in case any scent survived on it, then explores the near shore.
Mix chuffs low in his chest, then dips his own head to sniff at the rifle. Yah, that's my man's, all right. Not that he'll have a use for it again, but it's good to know we're still on his trail.
Unsurprisingly, the river washed away any scent from it. All the gun smells like is river. This side of the river looks much like the other side, with tall trees growing up to the banks, and sparse vegetation beneath the canopy of leves.
Yotee sniffs around at the shore, at the base of the trees, Do you smell anything here Mix? My nose is full of river. It's not looking promising so far, another swim may be required.
The two canines don't find any scents in the immediate vicinity, but as they range further, Yotee notices a spot along the bank that's badly eroded, with rocks and turf recently combed back from the bank and fallen into the water. The ground nearby is churned by paws.
The coyote immediately heads for it. This looks different! Mix, smell anything? He sniffs around himself, then looks for the best way up, and for anything that might have been buried or revealed by those paws.
The area is wet and doesn't hold much scent, smelling mostly of river. There is, however, one clearly-marked paw-print preserved in the mud. It's enormous; Yotee could fit all four of his paws into it.
Mix trots over to the churned-up ground and examines the huge paw-print. Might be the work of that she-wolf, the mark here is big enough.
You fought this? This thing is huge! Yotee doesn't stick all his paws in it, the humiliation would be too great. He jumps up the bank, looking for anything more he can find.
Mix gives the coyote a quick dog-grin. Yeah, well, sometimes I leap before I think. Kinda like a certain wilder I know. Then he begins a wider circuit of the area, snuffling around for any scents at all that he recognizes.
I'd just taunt her and run away. Or run away quietly. He can't hide his respect for Mix, and concentrates on anything he can find. The bravado of the moment, false and true, is only a slight respite from the cold unknowns.
It takes Mix a few minutes and he has to get a few yards away from the river, but at last his tail starts to wag as he picks up a trail.
Over here! Mix barks to the coyote. I can smell that she-wolf again. There's a very faint smell underneath that - my man. Almost missed it, but it's there. Guess we're back on track.
Yotee lopes after Mix, Lead on! He's not sure what they'll do when they find him or her, but he'll see it through to the end.
The trail is old and very cold. Mix keeps having to stop and backtrack as he loses it, then finds it again. It's starting to get dark when the two come to a very short, shallow gully with freshly churned earth at the bottom. Mix goes past the gully at first, then turns around and goes back to it. Then leaves again, then comes back. He snuffles up and down the gully.
While they've been tracking, Yotee's had a hard time even figuring out what scent Mix is following. He hasn't scented Ron at all on this side of the river. A faint wolf-like musk has come to his nose now and again, but it's too faded for him to have followed on his own.
Yotee is satisfied with his contribution towards finding the start of the trail, even if he's been no help following it. He commits the wolf-musk to memory, it may be useful. When Mix makes a second pass at the gully, he turns his attention to it, jumping down and starting to paw at the loose earth. Is this where it ends?
Mix stops suddenly and sits near the mixed-up earth as Yotee scratches at it. My man's scent is stronger here than anywhere else since we crossed the river. I think... He lowers his head. Maybe he's buried here.
Yotee is very good at digging up things, and gets down to it, pawing determinedly through the earth. I'll see. Are you here old man? He barks.
Mix chuffs deep in his chest again, a more mournful sound this time. But he joins Yotee in digging up the earth to see what might be beneath it.
It's not as grim a task for the coyote, he didn't know Whitehorse well and he's lived a little closer to death. Still, his friend's grief concerns him, though he does his best to ignore it through vigorous digging. The chance for a happy ending is growing significantly smaller, but he's not going to throw in till everything is down.
The sun starts to sink and the shadows of the forest lengthen from grey day to greyer twilight, as the two dig. Soon, Yotee can smell Whitehorse's scent, too. The coyote's smaller paws don't seem to slow him down any in shifting clumps of dirt. At length, his claws scrape against something soft but solid, unlike the moist surrouding earth. The skin of a weathered human cheek appears between streaks of remaining dirt.
Mix stops for a few seconds to stare at the flesh revealed beneath the dirt. Then he continues digging just a little further down from that spot, as if determined to reveal everything the earth has to hide, whatever he might feel about what he sees.
It's... him. Yotee stops his rough pawing and starts licking, trying to clean the dirt away from the weathered skin.
Yeah. This is the dog's only reply as he keeps uncovering more and more of his man's body.
The flesh beneath the dirt is cold, lifeless, a little salty with sweat and dried blood.
As Mix continues to scrape away the dirt, the cause of the man's death becomes obvious: his throat was torn out. Half of it is missing; he must have died almost immediately.
Mix finally stops scraping the earth away and lies down, his head resting on what is probably the old man's chest. He blows out a long sigh. Yeah. About what I figured. That she-wolf got her teeth into him real good before she knocked me against that tree.
Yotee finishes clearing the dirt off his face. He stares at the wounds, their size and ferocity. He nods at the Mix's information; the wolf probably dragged his body the entire way. Still, he barks! Old Man! Old Man! Do you linger?
Nothing answers Yotee's call. The coyote has the sense that Whitehorse's spirit hasn't chosen to haunt this earth.
The dog gives Yotee a sad half-grin before closing his eyes. Thanks for helpin' me look for him. Guess...guess I gotta figger out what to do now. Huh.
He's gone Mix, I'm sorry. You were loyal to the end and there was nothing you could have done, but you tried anyhow. Yotee howls, long and mournfully, expressing the futility and sadness he feels at the moment. Then he slumps, his eyes glowing a pale gold in the gathering darkness. Randall would know what to do, and he has food.
Despite his grief, Mix cracks open one eyelid looks at the coyote with curiosity. Is that the man I saw near the farmhouse the day I first chased you? Didn't know he'd tolerate wilders - or slow, old dogs, for that matter. Huh. Well, I guess at least a meal wouldn't hurt, if he's willing to provide one.
Yeah, that's him. The coyote grins, He'd describe having me around as something to be tolerated, that's for sure. He's a bit of an old dog himself. I don't think he'll mind you... and well, I'm not exactly his constant companion. I'll be moving on sooner or later and he might like someone a bit more reliable around. He looks down at Whitehorse's body, He'll take care of all the things humans want done also.
Mix chuffs with sudden decision, then stands and looks down at his man's body. Yeah. Leave him uncovered. At the very least, if some other human comes up on him, they'll know something dangerous is about and maybe warn others. Then this Randall of your'n can do as he sees fit. He gives Yotee another sad grin. Let's go.