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Show U7 "You're a thief." He flinched. "Grub snatcher," he corrected. "But you won't advertise it, will you, son, out there? You don't know what they do to grub snatchers in these camps." "I know," I said. "I have seen." "You won't though? " I didn't say. And suddenly, he darted for the entrance. I jumped up and lunged with my knife. Angry as I was, I was glad it only ripped open his backpack. But what I saw shocked me as much as if it had been blood. Feathers burst out. I could not believe my eyes. Then I realized the backpack was part of his disguise. He was too lazy to be a real stampeder. As he ran, stumbling around the tents and down the trail, feathers blew out behind him like a goose plucked in a blizzard. I sat in my tent and laughed. By November 25 all my supplies were cached in my tent at Canyon City, with a tunnel in the middle for me to crawl into with my fur-lined sleeping bag. On one side of the entrance was my Yukon stove, its tall pipe extending through the tent top, and on the other side a stack of firewood. I planned to sleep in my tent during my relays to the next station, Sheep Camp, and I did not plan to freeze to death. I stayed five days at Canyon City because of a blizzard. |