Black Star, Bright Dawn

by Scott O'dell

  "What do you think?" Oteg said. "Do you like the new sled?"

  "I like it. The dogs will like it, too. They'll think they are pulling a baby carriage."

  The trail to Rohn was very narrow. An avalanche might slide down at any time. The marshal sent us on a new trail that led through Ptarmigan Pass.

  We had lost nearly an hour helping Katy Logan. "We are far behind," I said to Oteg. "Now I am going fast and pass."

  "It is a good day not to pass."

  "Why have a fast sled and go slow?"

  "Everyone will be running fast today. They'll be making up for the freeze. They'll wear their dogs out."

  I didn't take his advice. He started off first at six miles an hour. I went twice that speed and passed him before we reached the top of Ptarmigan. He was not pleased with me, but I was tired of wandering along.

  11

  The trail through Ptarmigan was steep. The new sled flew like a frightened bird. At the bottom of the pass, just as I skimmed out of a grove of spruce trees, I saw something strange on the trail.

  Snow was falling, and at first I thought it was a pile of rocks covered by brush. As I drew closer, the rocks turned into trees, then into a shaggy beast. I thought it was a caribou. Then I saw the spreading horns and the long lumpy nose. It was a moose, a bull moose, big and red-eyed.

  Moose are always dangerous. They are big and bad-tempered. Oteg was far behind, and if I waited for him to come and help me I would lose all the time I had gained.

  I did not dare to challenge the beast. Once when I was with my father we met a young bull near Blue Goose Village. It was standing in the middle of the trail, swinging its head back and forth.

  "It does not wish to move," Bartok said.

  "I don't blame him," I said. "The trail is easier to walk on than deep snow."

  "And what's more, it is not going to move. It weighs most of seven hundred pounds, so we are not going to make him move."

  "We can try."

  "Remember old Ekaluk? He tried one time and lost three of his dogs and came close to losing his life. I have my gun, but since my eyes went bad I am a poor shot. If I only wound the beast, it will come at us."

  He unhitched Black Star and the rest of the team. He turned the sled around, hitched up the dogs again, and we went back, nearly out of sight, and waited. We waited for most of an hour, until the beast decided to move away.

  What had happened to Ekaluk I did not want to happen to me. Oteg had good advice about passing dog teams but not about passing a moose. I stepped down on the brake and shouted "Whoa" to Black Star. When the team came to a halt, I was so close to the animal I could hear it breathing. Its head was lowered and it stared at me with its yellow eyes.

  Quietly I put on my snowshoes. I made a half circle around the moose, leaving a trail in the snow that was deep enough to run on. The dogs were barking, straining at their leashes in a frenzy to get at the beast. They did not budge when I yelled "Go!" I had to crack the long, black whip over their heads before they would take the trail. They barked until the moose was out of sight behind us.

  It stopped snowing and a weak sun came out, but the wind still blew hard from the north. I passed two teams camped beside the trail. Close to dusk I came upon a third team. The driver was pulled up behind some trees, feeding his dogs.

  He raised a hand and shouted, "Watch for moose. Two big ones just trotted by." He pointed down the trail to Rohn. "I'd wait, young lady. You can get into trouble," he shouted.

  "I just passed one," I shouted back, thinking that he was not warning me but trying to slow me down.

  But in a short time, as the trail climbed a hill and went down again over a bridge and frozen stream, I saw the moose, the ones the driver had warned me about. There were two of them, as he had said, a bull and a cow. The bull was big. Each of my dogs weighed over seventy pounds. The bull looked bigger than all of them put together.

  When she heard the dogs bark, the cow took to the stream and disappeared. But the bull stood sideways on the bridge and did not move. I pulled up the team as soon as I was sure that he meant to stay there.

  Off to the right of the bridge were patches of earth and rocks where the wind had swept the snow clean. I shouted "Gee!" for right turns, then "Haw!" for left turns, and Black Star picked his way through the clean patches.

  When we were safely on the trail again I glanced back at the bull. He had moved from the bridge. He was slowly trotting after us, swinging his head from side to side. I cracked the whip and the team leaped forward. But as we picked up speed, the bull did not stop, and I saw that he was chasing us.

  In a long run my dogs could outdistance him—they can cover close to twenty miles in an hour—but in a short run moose could run much faster. They run at a gallop, thrusting their thin legs ahead of their bodies, two powerful legs at a time.

  I was scared. I jumped off the sled to make it easier for the dogs. The moose rushed up and ran beside me. For a moment I thought he was showing off, playing some sort of a wild game. Then he ran past me and galloped along the line of dogs, brushing them off the trail with his broad antlers.

  He galloped on and disappeared over the brow of the hill. My dogs were barking, trying to get out of their harness to chase him, so I waited for a while to calm them down and let the bull gallop out of sight.

  But when we started up again and came to the brow of the hill, he was waiting. He stood in the middle of the trail, his long, queer-shaped nose raised to the wind and his yellow eyes fixed on us.

  We were in a draw with boulders on both sides of the trail. There was no way to get around the beast, but room to turn back. I made the turn and waited beyond the hill for Oteg, for one of the drivers, for help to come.

  No sooner had I calmed the dogs again than the bull appeared on the brow of the hill.

  He stood for a moment looking down at us, pawing the snow. With one sweep of his antlers he could kill half the team. With his sharp hoofs he could injure the rest.

  I did a desperate thing. As the bull started toward us, I ran down the towline, loosened the buckles, and freed all of the dogs. It was better that they run or hide, to save themselves as best they could, than to be caught tied to a towline.

  Black Star raised his head, growled, and moved slowly up the rise to meet the bull. The rest of the dogs followed. The sled was small protection, yet I stood behind it. Not long before I had felt the biting wind. I felt it no longer.

  Black Star circled the bull once, twice, three times, drawing closer each time. On the last circle the beast caught him a glancing blow with one of its back hoofs and sent him sprawling.

  Black Star shook the snow out of his eyes, got up, and stalked the bull again. Now all of my dogs sent up chilling howls and joined him.

  The bull snorted, made sounds like far-off thunder, and slashed out with his sharp hoofs. He moved round and round. He tried to face all the dogs at once but failed. Then he made a dash for Sky and gave her a slashing blow with both of his front hoofs.

  I took off my parka, ran up the trail, and waved it frantically—a foolish thing to do, yet it saved us. The moose forgot he was surrounded by growling dogs.

  For a moment his blazing eyes examined me and the parka. In that brief time, Black Star sunk his teeth into the beast's throat. In a flash the other dogs were on him.

  The moose fell to his knees and rolled over. He tried to shed the dogs, but they clung to him until he lay still.

  I wrapped Sky in my heavy parka and laid her on the sled. She was scarcely breathing. I rounded up the dogs and fastened them to the towline and started for Rohn. It was getting dark. The trail was hard to see, but I turned on my headlamp and went fast.

  12

  It was past three in the morning when I came to Rohn. A north wind was blowing. I anchored the sled and took Sky in my arms. She seemed better. But when I got her to the cabin—this was all of Rohn, a cabin beside the trail—and the veterinarian looked at her, he said that she had three broken ribs. He gave her so
mething and she went to sleep.

  Oteg came in more than an hour after I did. He had lost the trail out of Ptarmigan and ended up in a swamp.

  "How many teams did you pass?" he asked.

  "Four."

  He clapped his hands. "Pass four today. I stay close. No more swamps. We push the leaders, not too fast, not too slow. To the others we give serious thoughts. And all the time we keep the dogs strong. Dogs win the races."

  I told him about the moose.

  "They are worse than blizzards," he said. "And the trails you cannot find in the snow. Holes in the ice and swamps. Moose are the worst. But today you need not worry about them. I will speak to my friend, the Raven."

  A big fire was going in the cabin. He shouldered his way through the crowd of mushers, warmed his hands at the fire, and went outside. When he came back, he said that he had spoken a few words to Raven.

  The stars were dim and there was a small moon. I cooked food for the team, staked it out away from the other teams, and changed the boots on all the dogs that needed them. Then I crawled into the sleeping bag, slept until dawn, and went to see about my injured dog.

  She was awake but did not want the fish I brought her or any of the meat the plane had dropped or the rice and blueberry cakes I had stored away for myself.

  "Do you want to go?" I said in the voice I used on the trail.

  She cocked her ears. She looked up at me for a moment, then closed her eyes.

  The morning had dawned clear and cold. I could hear the drivers talking to their dogs. The first teams were leaving. Oteg came in and wanted to know if I was ready.

  "Twelve teams have gone," he said. "I am hitched. But still you moon over the dog." He was angry.

  I said nothing and went out and told the marshal that I wanted to send my dog back to Anchorage. He said a plane was due.

  "When?" I asked.

  "In an hour, depending on the wind."

  Oteg had followed me. He guessed that I meant to wait and put my dog on the plane.

  "You do not win races this way," he said. "Maybe the plane comes in an hour. Maybe in two hours. Maybe tomorrow. Who knows?"

  The marshal said, "The veterinarian will take care of your dog. And I'll see that she gets on the plane."

  I thanked him and said I would wait for the plane. He gave me a quick glance and shook his head. Silently, Oteg left the cabin. I heard him shouting at his dogs, the crack of his whip, and the squeal of the runners.

  The plane landed in less than an hour. I wrapped Sky in a blanket, Mr. McCall gave her a pill, and I put her on the plane.

  "Will they take care of Sky when she gets to Anchorage?" I asked him.

  "She'll have a better time than pulling a sled."

  Mr. McCall did not know that she would rather pull a sled than eat.

  I got the rest of the team ready and we left before noon. The sky was gray, but it had stopped snowing. I caught up with Oteg. He pulled off the trail so I could pass. He had gotten over his anger and shouted more advice. I did not listen. He had taught me many things about the race. But it was Oteg who was racing in the Iditarod, not me.

  I remembered my father's words. He said, "Do not depend on other people, on me, on your teachers in school, on anybody. Listen and think about what you hear, but depend upon yourself." From now on I would try not to depend upon Oteg so much.

  It seemed strange driving the team without Sky. The team missed her, too. She sang a lot even when we were going uphill and the snow was deep.

  The afternoon turned cold. Sharp pebbles covered the trail. They were hard on the dogs' feet. I stopped twice to feed them bits of frozen meat and change their boots.

  At dusk I came to the Farewell Burn. Oteg had told me about the Farewell Burn. It was thousands of acres that a fire had swept through. Stumps of burned trees rose everywhere along the trail. A thin sheet of snow covered them like shrouds. In the dim light they looked like rows of ghostly heads.

  Oteg had warned me to go slow through the Burn, to watch closely for stumps. Instead, now that I was running the race in my own way, I drove faster than I should have. I hit one of the stumps and broke off pieces of both of the runners. I drove slower after that and Oteg passed me.

  I got to Nikolai, the next checkpoint, at two in the morning, almost an hour after he did. It was blowing again. The wind turned into a blizzard. The thermometer fell way below zero. You could not see beyond your feet. A "freeze" was called, and not a team stirred that day.

  During this time Oteg built another igloo. Or, rather, we built it together. This time, at his prompting, I stood inside. He handed me the blocks of snow and I put them down in a circle and slanted the edges to make the dome. It was not so good as the igloo we had made at Rainy Pass, but it kept out the fierce wind.

  The "freeze" helped. I could not race on broken runners. New ones were not to be found in Nikolai, but Oteg poked through his bundles and found two lengths of spruce, which he fitted to the runners and bound with caribou sinew.

  "I will now make the runners smooth, both of them," he said. "Now you will fly!"

  He took out a blob of frozen mud and heated it over the lamp. When it was soft, he went outside and smeared it over the runners and let it freeze again. With his knife he trimmed the mud smooth. Last, he filled his mouth with water and let it warm. Then he moved up and down the overturned sled with a piece of wet deerskin, spraying and wiping the runners. They froze in a second.

  "Try it now," he said.

  I put my hand on the sled and it moved easily.

  "Try one finger."

  I touched a finger to the sled. It glided away.

  "Aiee, aiee," he crowed. "When we leave Nikolai we will go a little faster than before. We will pass some teams this time."

  I nodded and thanked him for saving the sled.

  Just before dawn, at a lull in the screaming wind, I heard the wolf sounds again, the sounds I had heard at Skwentna.

  I went outside. All of the dogs except Black Star were buried in the snow. He was on his feet, sniffing the air. His head was turned toward a grove of trees. Beyond the trees, through the driving ice and snow, I made out the white wolf. He was standing with his pack, bunched together. They were watching us and not making a sound.

  Black Star was chained to the towline. I untied the chain, led him into the igloo, and set the snow blocks in place. For a short time I dozed and woke to find him clawing at the doorway. I sat up and listened.

  The wolves had come closer. They seemed to be just outside the igloo, among the sleeping dogs.

  Oteg crawled out of his bag. He put a chunk of seal oil in the lamp and set water to boil for his black tea.

  "The wolves are outside," I said.

  "I have heard them," Oteg said. "They are looking for food. They'll find none and go away."

  "It's the same wolf pack I saw before. The leader is white. He's the one I saw at Skwentna. He's not just looking for food."

  "You saw the white one?"

  "This morning."

  Oteg sighed. "It's Raven again. I'll attend to him after a while."

  He put on his boots. He poured himself a mug of tea. He drank it and poured more. Then he got into his big parka and left the igloo. He was gone for a long time. I went outside, holding Black Star on his chain. Day was breaking.

  Oteg stood with his mug of tea, looking at the sky. "It's very good," he said.

  The sky was pink in the east. Bands of lavender shifted back and forth overhead, faded out, and returned in shades of orange and yellow.

  "Where are the wolves?" I asked him.

  He had forgotten about the wolves. He sipped his tea and gazed at the beautiful sky.

  "The wolves," I said. "What happened to them?"

  He drank his tea and kept admiring the sky.

  13

  We left Nikolai the next morning when the sun came up and got to McGrath at dusk. We camped there past midnight, looked after the dogs, slept some, and started off for Tokotna and Ophir and Idita
rod.

  Oteg said, "The driver who gets to Iditarod first wins two thousand dollars in silver money. That is a good prize, two thousand dollars. But I cannot win. I am too far back. Let the others scramble and wear out their dogs, is what I think. What do you think?"

  It was the only time he had ever asked my opinion about anything.

  "The new sled flies. The dogs are fine. Two thousand dollars is a lot of money, Mr. Oteg. I am going to try for it."

  "Well..." He was disappointed, but he gave me a thin smile and wished me luck.

  The dogs strained at their traces. They started off with a mighty rush. The runners sang. It was a dark night. Not a star showed. Far in the west a pale moon went down. I passed six teams on the way to Tokotna, on the way to Ophir, eight teams. Now I was running ninth.

  Beyond Ophir, the mushers ahead of me had stopped at a checkpoint called Don's Cabin. Warm lights shone through the window and I heard loud voices and laughter. It was very cold outside, but as soon as I checked in, I climbed back on the sled and headed down the trail for Iditarod.

  We all had left Ophir according to the times we got there, also our places in the race. At every checkpoint, these staggered starts were used. In this way every musher could keep the advantage he or she had earned.

  The country beyond Don's Cabin looked wild and forsaken. Scattered trees were ragged and bent over by the fierce winds. It was very cold. My feet stuck to the runners. They felt as if they belonged to somebody else.

  I drove the team faster than I ever had before. At times we were running at fifteen miles an hour. The dogs opened their jaws and scooped up snow as they ran. I stopped and fed them snacks often enough to keep them happy.

  No one was ahead of me. Not one of the eight drivers I had left at Don's Cabin had overtaken me. Yet I had no idea how much time I had gained on them or where I stood now in the race. Surely I was close to second or third.