November Bargain, Part Three, Subpart the Last

[camwyn]

She had just managed to haul the big malemute around and buckle him into his harness when all three of the dogs broke out in frantic barking. Alarmed, she whirled around.

The wolf had found them. And it had company.

There wasn't enough fur in the Territory to warm the chill that shot through Louise as she saw the grey shapes slinking between the trees. One, off to the left – two there, almost side by side and straight ahead of her – one circling around behind the sled. She started to back away, but Bear was there, just behind her. Her arms windmilled furiously as she struggled not to trip. She had to get the sled going - had to-

Campion leapt forward as the wolf pair drew closer, his own teeth bared in a terrible snarl. The harness held him back, but the Siberian's ferocity communicated itself to the wolves anyway. The two Louise could still see stopped, heads low and legs tensed. Not wanting to waste the chance, Louise turned quickly, intent on ripping that anchor out of the ground. There was a sharp thunk and a searing pain across the back of her head; she let out a cry, staggering. One hand flew up to- wood?

Yes, wood- the stock of her father's rifle, all but forgotten until it smacked her in the head. Still swaying a little, she scrambled to unsling the gun, looking around as she did so to keep an eye on the wolves. With a shock, she realised she could only account for one. The others had vanished into the snowy undergrowth. The urge to cry, in pain or fear or anger, grew suddenly so strong that she could barely hold the rifle steady. "You," she said, eyes on the lone visible wolf. "I never wanted to bother you. Go away, you hear me? You- you- just go away!"

It looked back at her, or seemed to; it was hard to tell. The dogs were struggling against their restraints, whether to escape or fight she couldn't say. She risked a look away from the wolf for a moment as something crashed in the snow behind her- wolf? Tree branch? Falling ice? Louise couldn't say. She whipped around back again, bringing the Enfield to bear on the golden-eyed beast. "Go on!" she cried. "Get out of here! Leave us alone!" Please, she mentally added. Oh, please, for the love of God, just go away!

It suddenly braced itself, as if to leap. Louise's finger, already cramped by the cold, reflexively tightened on the trigger. The gun's report, the whine of the bullet, rang shockingly loud in the snow-muffled landscape. With a yelp, the wild beast scrambled sideways, floundering over the icy crust as the shot buried itself in the snow. "That's RIGHT!" Louise cried, even as she berated herself for being so careless. "Run, you stinking- stupid- just- just run!" She fired again, the second time clipping the wolf's hindquarters. It yowled, scrabbled momentarily, and finally found enough purchase to flee into the trees.

She had no time to savor the triumph, if triumph it could be called. Moose's low, warning chuff whipped her around swiftly. There- through the snow that had just started to fall, the pair from before! She took aim and fired, but in vain. What little practice she'd had with the rifle had been at immobile targets, and the two- no, three- shots she loosed at the wolf pair went wild. All but screaming with impotent rage, she ran towards them, pausing only when the two launched themselves in separate directions. She let off another shot; there was a spray of red suddenly, shockingly visible through the snow, but the wolf kept running anyway.

Louise caught herself wanting to chase the beast down so she could finish the job of killing it. The thought shocked her. She'd never killed anything in her life. Hadn't even wanted to. The wolves hadn't hurt her, or the dogs, either. All they'd done was scare her- no. No, that wasn't true. They'd slowed her down. If it hadn't been for them she'd have been able to get the sled free. She'd be on her way back to Dawson by now. True, she would've failed in her attempt to warn Sergeant Preston about the influenza, but she'd be on her way to safety if it weren't for the wolves. And who knew what they MIGHT've-

It occurred to her that the commotion behind her sounded different all of a sudden. And, with a further chill that had nothing to do with the Yukon weather, it occurred to her as well that there had been four wolves.

Desperately she turned around, running back to the dogs as fast as the snow would allow. The fourth wolf, smaller than the rest, had taken advantage of her carelessness. Campion lunged at him, snapping as the charcoal-grey wolf danced back just out of reach. Bear- even from a distance Louise could see Bear had wriggled almost completely out of his harness. Oh, God, he'll kill him! rang through her brain. The wolf's going to kill him! Bear's lost every dog fight he's ever been in! "Get DOWN, Bear!" she yelled. The big malemute looked up, ears pricked in surprise. It was all that saved him. The wolf chose that moment to leap at the distracted team leader; if Bear hadn't turned as Louise spoke, its fangs would've closed on his throat. They ripped into his shoulder instead, sending red over the snow as the dog tried to writhe himself free.

Louise was barely aware of her reaction after that. She simply didn't have any room for conscious thought. There were too many images, too many other sensations: blood smell, pain-raddled barking, breaking ice underfoot, fresh falling snow, a grey shape just barely visible as it went at her dogs again- the stink of gunpowder, thunderous bangs, the rifle's kicks against her shoulder the frantic, hollow sound of a trigger repeatedly colliding with nothing at all. . .

She shook her head rapidly, lowering the rifle. Bear was whimpering somewhere nearby. The wolf was dead, sprawled horribly across the narrow trail in a pool of its own blood. Campion and Moose were still struggling, the snow was still blowing, but the wolf was dead. And she and her dogs were still alive.

Wounded, in Bear's case, but still alive.

Out of ammunition, miles and miles outside Dawson, but still alive.

Looking a snowstorm of pure winter malice square in the face, but still alive.

Louise staggered forward, prodding at the wolf with the rifle's muzzle. It didn't move. That. . . that was good. She couldn't remember if the pack was supposed to come back and avenge the death, or what, but this particular wolf – the dangerous one – was dead.

Still whimpering, Bear butted his head against the back of Louise's leg. She let out a sudden wail and sank down to her knees. So the weather would freeze her tears to her face, to the mask she yet wore; she didn't care. It was all too much to bear, taken together and thrown at her at once. The best she could do was cling to the wounded lead dog, heaving with sobs and wondering what the wilderness would throw at them next.

"Whoa, Duke!"

That. . . that was a human voice. And dogs, she could hear other dogs too. Somewhere – somewhere close by?

"Whoa, you huskies! Those shots came from right around here."

That voice. She knew that voice. Shaking uncontrollably, not sure if she could bring herself to stand, Louise looked up uncertainly. "B- Bill?" she called. "Bill, is that you?"

Silence, utter silence, except for the hissing of falling snow and Bear's soft whimpers. Then, incredulous and shocked: "Louise?"

---

"Thank you for bringing her home, Sergeant," said Fred Delaney. "I can't believe she would do something like this."

"I can." Sergeant Preston had just got a finger under the edge of his mask. There was an itch starting back there. "Once your daughter makes up her mind about something, I don't believe there's anything on this Earth that'll stop her."

"Yes, but to run off like that without telling me!" The older man shook his head. "I can understand her taking the dogs, even the rifle, but she should've told me."

"Would you have let her go?" Preston asked shrewdly, watching the other man's face.

"Of course not! It's much too dang-" Fred started coughing, clutching at the arms of his chair. "Dangerous. Look what happened. Look what could've happened!"

Privately, the Mountie thought Louise had done extremely well under the circumstances. He'd never seen anything like it – a girl alone in the deep woods standing her ground like that, killing a marauding wolf when she'd never shot at a moving target before. . . a city girl, no less. One who'd never been more than a few minutes' ride away from the city by herself before. And all to warn him that he was in danger? True, she'd been all but collapsed when he found her, but she'd blurted out her warning and shoved a bundle of masks into his hands before giving up entirely. In a young man that kind of resolve was rare enough, but in a woman- well, that wasn't the kind of thing you let slip through your fingers. Ever.

But this was her worried father in front of him, so all he said was, "I know. She took an awful risk, and it almost went poorly."

"My point exactly!"

Preston held up one hand. "Almost went poorly," he repeated. "You've got her home now, and she's all right. A little shaken up, but all right. I've made arrangements with Inspector Harper to have our detachment veterinarian treat your dog's shoulder."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." Sergeant Preston considered the man before speaking his next words. "I wouldn't judge your daughter too harshly, Mr. Delaney. I realize it isn't my place to say these things just yet, but. . . "

Fred looked up from another coughing fit, eyebrows arched.

"If the situation were reversed- if she were the one riding blind into danger- I'd have done exactly the same thing."

Fred shook his head, not understanding. "That's your job, isn't it?"

Preston took a deep breath. "Even if it weren't my job, Mr. Delaney. I'd still do it – for her."

Fred fell silent at that, staring off into the middle distance. Eventually, he murmured, "She really did do pretty well, didn't she?"

"Amazingly well, considering. There were four bullet holes in that wolf's side."

A gleam of pride touched Fred's face. "That's my girl," he said quietly. "Never did do anything by half measures. Neither did her mother."

"If your wife was anything like Louise, then all I can say is: you were one fortunate man, Mr. Delaney."

Fred smiled. "I know," he said. "I know."

Sergeant Preston could see the man was tiring. Not wanting to tax the convalescent's strength further, he moved to stand up. As Fred rose to wish him goodbye, Preston added, "I can only hope to be as lucky, some day."

Fred blinked, staring at the Mountie for a moment. Then he laughed. "Sergeant," he said firmly, "believe me, you already are. "

"You're sure of that?"

"Positive."

---

I'm not really happy with the last few lines of the closing bit, but it's 2 AM, I'm sick RL, and I neeeeeeeeed sleeeeeeeep.

Comments

[dormouse-in-tea.livejournal.com]

Oh, I like the last bit.

And I almost woke my dad up, cheering for Louise, as I read this at 1:30 in the morning.

Now GO TO SLEEP!

[camwyn]

Heh. I swore to myself that I wouldn't go to bed until I'd finally finished the Louise business. That's all.

I spent this whole segment consciously aware that I was walking the edge of Mary Sue territory. Louise is, after all, the non-canon character who ultimately lands the previously impossible man. She's pretty, talented, talks back to people, and lives in the nicest place in town. I have to be careful writing her.