Tommy Sealskin and the rest
by Pares

Brenner Field squinted up at him as he held the door and tipped his hat.

"We should close our borders," the old man murmured and Fraser raised his eyebrows slightly.

"Pardon?'"

"My granddaughter'll run off with 'im and then her mama will be at my door to cry. You just wait and see!"

"I'm afraid I'm not sure what you're referring to, Mr. Field."

Field spat and elbowed past Fraser into the cave-like warmth of Hestle's Store.

"That Stateside boy. He's been all over town, asking questions, making all the girls chatter. It's not right. We should build a wall, keep them out."

"It's certainly not against any law to impress the young ladies, Mr. Field. Now, if he's been stealing dogs, or poaching, you let me know and I'll attend him."

Mr. Field waved him off in disgust, "We should build a wall!" he declared, and Fraser closed the door as he left.

Fraser resettled his hat against the wind and tramped toward his post to check in and then sign out for the night.

At Gore's Fabrics he saw a flock of girls cooing like doves. He wasn't training his ears, but nevertheless, he could hear them sighing. "So cute," they agreed. With the bluest blue eyes and a mouth you could lick 'til your tongue got stuck. Well.

Fraser was not unaware of the effect he had on women, nor of men, but to think that girls in school thought he was... in so carnal a...

Fraser felt himself coloring, and was glad of the bracing chill.

His blush darkened when he realized that they hadn't been speaking of him.

The girls were waiting for someone named Blair to get back from the hunt.

It served him right. Eavesdropping on schoolgirls was certainly not very forthright.

He was nearly to the post when Dief trotted up beside him.

"There you are. What kind of example are you setting? Don't you think Gregory Chapman would have liked to have shirked his schoolwork to go run around in the snow?"

Dief's pause to shake the remaining snow from his coat demonstrated a pointed lack of remorse.

"I know you've been up to see Harman's bitch, and that's very well and good, but-- What? No. I haven't seen the weather report since this morning." He hurried through the doors of the post and Jergensen looked up.

"We've got a blower."

"Anyone out?"

"Tommy Sealskin and the rest. They have that tagalong with them, Blaine Sandburg?"

Fraser felt something tighten in his belly at the thought. A mouth you could lick 'til your tongue got stuck.

Dief yipped and looked at him anxiously.

"I quite agree. Constable Jergensen, I'll be going to up to Pine Ridge. Kindly inform Mr. Sealskin's family that we're acting at once."

"You're going out by yourself? I recommend waiting on Dale and Merson. They'll be here to take their shift in twenty minutes."

"Time is of the essence, I'm afraid. Even that small delay could cost lives. And if we need another team, we'll need someone here."

"Bring them back, then, Constable Fraser."

Fraser nodded.

"How many are in Sealskin's hunting party?"

"Five or six. The SnowCat's your best bet."

The wind was picking up; Fraser could hear the flag flap and clang on the pole outside.

Adjusting his hat, Fraser nodded to Diefenbaker.

"Stay here. There won't be room for you."

Dief ducked under Jergensen's desk without comment.

It took him nearly half an hour to find Sealksin and his party. By then, the snow was heavy, and the wind was fierce.

Sealskin took the rescue with something less than good grace. He was an elder in the tribe, and it stung his pride to need rescue. But his two young nephews were with him, and he accepted the ride back to town.

All but Sealskin were in the snowcat before it occurred to Fraser to ask if all the members of the party were accounted for.

Sealskin shot him an annoyed look.

"You're saying that the American didn't send you out for us?"

"I beg pardon?"

"Sandburg. He said something about gale force winds. That we should head home early. He had a radio with him."

"You're saying you knew this storm was coming?"

Sealskin shrugged. "There's more to predicting the weather than technology, Constable. We were making good time. The hunting was good."

"Mr. Sealskin, where is Mr. Sandburg?"

"I told you. He headed back. I thought he was the one who sent you. If you don't have him, then he probably got himself good and lost."

Fraser fought the urge to shake the man. Allowing a neophyte, an American at that, to wander away from the party. It was shameful.

There was nothing for it, though. His first priority was to bring the party back to town.

It was a grueling drive to the post, and Fraser fought the urge to speed. The last thing he needed was to throw a track and strand the party a second time.

Once he'd escorted the hunters inside, he signaled for Dief.

"Fine job, Constable."

"There's still someone out there. Blair Sandburg left the party, presumably to return to the post and to send us out to get Sealskin's group."

"Pardon?"

"There's a man out there, alone. An American, probably with little or no survival experience. The storm's been full out for over an hour now. We need to find him."

George Sealskin, a tall, slight boy, perhaps 14, came forward.

"You can't follow him out there. It was a pretty straight shot back from the Pine Ridge, but he might have gone down Powder Alley."

"Powder Alley." Fraser considered this. Powder Alley was what the locals called the channel between Hokum and Fennel mountain... prone to avalanches. Of course, the ice field before it was riddled with deep crevasses.

Tommy Sealskin may just as well have pushed poor Mr. Sandburg off a ledge.

But now was not the time to lecture. In fact, in Fraser's experience, it very seldom was. Lord knew they had no effect on Dief.

"If he's right, Constable, we can't take the SnowCat."

Dale and Merson had arrived long since, but Jergensen had stayed on in case additional hands were needed. He was given the task of escorting the rescued people home.

Fraser fought a sense of rising urgency.

"I'll take the team. Our best chance is to locate him by scent. George, can you show me anything Mr. Sandburg may have handled?"

The boy shifted a glance toward his uncle and then stepped closer, tugging off one glove. For the first time, Fraser noted that the boy was wearing gloves in two shades of brown. Not a matching pair.

"I, uh. I lost one of mine, and Blair-- Mr. Sandburg gave me one of his. He wasn't hunting, see, and he could put his hands in his pockets."

Oh dear. Not only was the poor fellow lost, but he was missing a glove. Perhaps, Fraser hoped, the young man had been carrying a second pair.

He thanked the boy and accepted the glove, holding it out to Dief, who sniffed it obligingly.

Fraser cupped Dief's muzzle in his hand and said, "Find him, Dief." He stowed the glove in his pocket and stood to leave.

Merson stepped forward, offering to help Fraser harness the team. Fraser accepted and hunted up the outpost's rescue kit, making a final inventory of its contents; the kit featured 200 feet of strong nylon rope and a rucksack that contained a hypothermia treatment bag.

Once outside, more for curiosity's sake than anything else, Fraser brought the glove to his face as well.
Hands were difficult to tease scents from, as they touched so many things, but there was something both distinctive and elusive here, spiced and organic. An expensive hand cream, the tang of sweat.

. . .

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