Chapter 11

While Kodaco and I were good hunters, Dora was the magician of the cookfire. She took our flesh offerings, and instead of rendering them as burnt offerings as we men might do if left to our own devices, created savory stews and pots, with the expert addition of herbs and spicy wild onions for flavor, vegetables and cress for bulk and crunch, bulbs and nuts for thickening and heartiness. She also tanned and prepared the skins and furs, and manufactured attire from them. We had all worn through three pairs of soft shoes, but in reality, an additional sole was added on the outside, and more lining to the inside. In spite of all this work, she found time to decorate our clothing with feathers, beads, dyes, and designs. I had to caution her against making our traveling clothing very eye-catching, since we would rather not draw attention to ourselves, but to keep her happy allowed her to make clothing we never wore, that were shockingly coloured and festooned with gimcracks.

Our purpose was to sneak through the land, passing by any entanglements or confrontation. The unvarying plains, unless we were following a watercourse, tended to numb our minds with repetition and sameness, and we would often find we had walked all day without speaking, or much noticing our surroundings since it was much of a sameness, unless some event occurred to rouse us, such as a rain squall, or a tree break, or some creatures, or a bird making a shadow across the sun The haunting sound of the geese flying South alerted me to the coming of the colder season and I started gradually bending our course Southward. We came to the boundary between the grasslands and the barren lands, and tried to keep grass under my sledge's skids, while holding as Southerly a course as we could, to keep winter at bay for as long as possible.

One bright moonlit night, we heard a faint noise from deeper in the barren land, a rhythmic chanting and singing, sounding doleful and ghostly, almost inhuman in its tones. Two of my companions wanted nothing to do with such spooky noises, but were unable to dissuade me from exercising my curiosity in the matter. They elected to remain behind, while I and russet dog, who showed no nervousness, but rather a professional appreciation of the singer, went to investigate.

We tracked the dolesome noise to a narrow canyon, and I slid sideways into the crevasse between the narrow twisty walls, which bent and echoed the quavering song with much distortion. The ghastly noise ceased suddenly with a frightened gasp as I rounded the final corner to discover an old man sitting with his leg pinned beneath a stone, a broken spear showing where he had attempted to free himself. He looked wide eyed at russet dog and I, and asked me something in words I did not understand, which he then translated into signs with palsyed hands. "Have you come to convey me to the spirit lands?" he quavered. Perhaps my response was ill considered, but how was I to know that his beliefs were that he would be taken to the after life by a spirit and a spirit wild dog? I answered with my own gestures "Are you eager to reach the after life then?"

He fainted, perhaps explained by his lack of food for the past week, and of water for the past three days, as he later explained. I took the occasion to remove the stone, which was not difficult from the proper angle of attack, but impossible from a prone position underneath, while russet dog tried to revive him by moistening his face with his tongue, and when that failed, perhaps because the old man was pretending to be still asleep to avoid the harbinger of mortal transition, or perhaps because he was too weak from hunger and thirst to revive, russet dog lifted his leg and applied a more vigorous application of reviving moisture, which was quite efficacious. I ween he was disillusioned that russet dog was a spirit creature at that point.

I gave him some more reviving liquid, water this time, for which he was more grateful, and some travel food, and then more water again. He was unharmed, and his spirits revived quickly, and soon with the assistance of his spear haft, the point and remaining haft tucked into his waist like a long handled poignard, he was able to follow me from the isolated canyon which was almost his tomb. He was still wary of russet dog, who prodded him along with an occasional curious poke.

It seems russet dog had rather liked his singing.