White Fangs by Tim Lebbon, Christopher Golden Read Free Book Online Page B

helped ease tension from his body.
    "Jack?" a voice said, and it was not Sabine's.
    Though Jack opened his eyes, he maintained his connection with the hawk, his senses open wide.
    The Reverend stood in front of him, brow knitted in consternation as he stroked a hand over his unruly beard. Vukovich accompanied him. Jack had been reaching his senses toward the river bank, but now that he allowed himself to feel the men's presence as well, he understood how close to the surface their lupine nature had risen. The men fairly bristled with agitation.
    "What is it?" Sabine asked.
    The Reverend glanced at her. "Just wondering what the hell Jack's gotten us into."
    "Meaning what?" Jack asked. "You knew what the terrain was going to be like up here. I warned you how remote it was. I thought you'd like the hunting."
    Vukovich glanced over his shoulder at a member of the crew hurrying by in the fading light. The sun had already set, and all that remained were the hints of it over the horizon.
    "That's not it," he said, his accent thicker than usual. "We talked to the cook. He likes his sherry this time of day and it loosened his tongue. We know what's got the crew spooked. They don't like making the run to Dawson these days."
    "Why not?" Sabine asked.
    "Rumors are flying from Dawson, up and down the river," the Reverend explained. "The word is that people have vanished."
    Jack frowned. "People uproot and abandon Dawson every day. They come for gold and find only hardship. Some turn into drunks and others die, but a lot of them head for home. The life they've got here . . . why would they tell anyone they were leaving?"
    "Don't you think people know that?" Vukovich asked. "There's got to be more to it. The cook says a preacher's wife was taken from her bedroom, and a half dozen men working a big claim disappeared from their camp. One man went to wash the dinner plates in the river and when he came back, they were gone."
    "I've heard many such stories," Sabine said. "Most of it is superstitious nonsense, fearful gibberish attempting to explain oddities that have perfectly ordinary explanations."
    "Yes," the Reverend agreed, giving her and Jack a steely look. "But you're a witch, Miss Sabine. And we . . ." he said, indicating himself and Vukovich, ". . . we are monsters. Jack fought the Wendigo."
    "Said he killed the Wendigo," Vukovich muttered, glancing away.
    "Is that what this is about?" Jack asked, looking about to make sure they weren't overheard. "You think this is the Wendigo?"
    "The way I understand the legend, any man can carry the curse of the Wendigo," the Reverend said. "Maybe you killed one, but that doesn't mean there isn't another."
    Jack shook his head. "Not this soon. What are the odds of that? The same curse falling on another man in the same place only a year later? And even if there were another Wendigo roaming the Yukon, there's no way it would have the stealth or intelligence required to sneak into some woman's boudoir and abduct her. If such a thing happened, it would have crashed through a window and eaten her, not to mention everyone else in the building, and kept eating until the folks in Dawson killed it, or there wasn't anyone left to eat. So no, not the Wendigo. Slavers, perhaps, more active than they were before. Bastards took me and my friends, and killed one of them. They're ruthless." I hope the bastards haven't touched Hal , he thought. But his young friend in Dawson was wise to the slavers' ways now, and Jack hoped he would be safe.
    Silence fell amongst them. Jack breathed evenly, still touching the hawks, although they were a ways back along the river now. He felt rodents returning to their warrens and birds seeking their nests.
    "Well," Vukovich said after a moment. "Something's got the crew spooked."
    "The cook heard that a man was attacked by a polar bear," the Reverend said. "There's some talk about a killer — "
    "A polar bear?" Jack interrupted. "This far south, and this time of year? That's