John Smith pulled his cap over his ears, as the temperature continued to drop. The frost stung his ears. The snow fell over the barren land. Pulling a glove across his frozen goggles he glanced over his shoulder back to the dog sleds that followed. The runners skid across the sharp ice, grinding as it went. The cold wind bit him to the bone. The Arctic sun sank lower and lower in the sky. Smith knew they must set up camp. With the wind swirling around, John stopped his sled, allowing the others to pull along side him. "We'll stay here tonight" he commanded above to roaring winds and stinging snows. Upon setting up camp, he and his two companions gathered around the fire, which barely kept the cold at bay. John gripped his tin cup, trying to squeeze every last inch of heat from it.
"Gittin' mighty cold out these days," said the man across the fire.
"Sure are right about that one Matt," John replied. The words were muted by the wall of snow, making them only a whisper by the time Matt heard him. "Get some shuteye. God knows we will need it. I'll take the first watch."
With that, Matt fumbled with his layers to get to his sleeping bag. John sat there staring into the glistening flames. Somewhere off in the distance, a mournful wolf cry went up to the heavens.
John awoke from a deep sleep. As he opened his eyes, the frost on his skin cracked. He rolled from were he slept onto the crunching snow. With coffee came his warmth, and with breakfast, his energy. "Rise and shine" called Will, who was tending to the dogs. Matt had just finished loading the sleds. The three loaded and toiled on into the unending, frozen abyss. After hours in the bitter cold, the motley group came upon trees. The trees grew up from the horizon until they stood near the three. The trees, much like the men, were snow covered and frozen to their core. John heard a great noise rise from behind him. He whipped his head back to see Will sucked beneath one of the trees. Crack! Matt and John rushed to their young friend's aid. Feet below them, they could see the wreck which the sled, dogs, and driver had left behind. Worst of all, Will lay screaming were he landed between the trunk and tree. Without hesitation Matt tied a rope around John's waist. John scaled down the slippery incline the few feet to his companion. "What's hurt?" inquired John, with both compassion and fear in his voice.
"My damn leg." Even the slightest movement, made Will cry out in pain. Cutting the dogs free, Matt pulled the dogs from the tree well. John tried to push the sled off Will, but it was to heavy.
"Pass me a stave" ordered John. Without delay, John received what he needed. Prying the sled off, Matt and the dog team pulled it up the hill. The sled only revealed a more hopeless sight. The snow under Will's leg was blood soaked. Before Will noticed this, John and Matt pulled their doomed companion from the tree.
"How bad is it?" asked Will.
"You'll be fine," Matt's voice quivered, yet he could see Will's eyes loosing their light.
"I should have never left home."
"Don't say that, you were as ready as any of us. This could have" John took over for Matt, and with this he choked a bit, "could have been any of us."
"Yeah, I guess." And with that the Wild claimed Will, as it does all in the end.
"Damn it!" exclaimed Matt, slamming his fist into the nearest sled.
"Load up." ordered John, with sorrow in his words.
"For Christ's Sake John! He just died and you expect us to just move on!" raged Matt.
"There's nothing we can do for him here and we are wasting daylight. Now I said load up," John said with a unaffected low voice. Both men loaded up in silence. The snow had returned, and the wind had a new sharpness as they returned to their trail. Matt had not seen the tear John shed for their lost friend. The day's work went on, endless.
Finally, John stopped. "We going to bury him here?" questioned Matt, emotion still seeping into his voice.
"We can't, the wolves would just dig him up. We've got to burn him."
"No, we just can't. What we going to tell those back at Fort Mckinley!?"
"We'll tell them just what happened. Now let's get a fire going."
There was no conversation that night. Only the silence of mourning and the wind, beating at the men's minds and souls. The next morning was like the last, but with less joy. Though both knew death was the way of the Wild, they never thought it would stop their movement. Especially not that of Will, so young and optimistic.
With that day came the destination upon the horizon. Though they could see it, but they could not make it there today. Maybe tomorrow, but not now. For they moved with a cloud of gloom following them. On their hearts was their departed companion and on their minds the ever increasing sign of wolf. The Wild had taken its toll too. The cold had them shivering and the winds had them tired, men cannot fight the power of the Wild and win. This night was the same as the previous, but with the caution that wolves were near. After Matt had fallen asleep, John saw a shadow move at the edge of camp. It simply skirted the tree line, planted its hind legs in the snow, raised its song to the moon. This was the song of the Wild. Of sorrow and fear and the past, of all that is past and present. A song that has been sung since the Wild existed and shall never cease. That night was filled with fear, for the Wild had broken these men with the death of their friend. This morning was like the others. The men set off to the mountains that appeared before them, rising like kings over all they could see. Finally the men had reached their goal; the valley of riches. According to prospector lore, here contained riches known to no man. With greed in their eyes the men headed toward the valley. As they neared it though, it seemed to grow further away. The winds became unbearable, often times blowing the icy snow against the men. The men pressed on against the stinging, swirling reality that surrounded them. Around them, they heard they wolves hunting. Their ears screamed with the winds. It was enough to drive someone mad. Finally the pair emerged from the horrendous storm.
"You okay?" asked Matt.
"Yeah, you?
Matt nodded, and they went on. An hour or so later, they made camp. Unlike the past nights there was conversation of their hopes of what lie ahead. Yet unnoticed by the two hopeful men, the dogs stayed closer tonight. This night was colder than any before. As the night broke to give the first hints of day, Matt saw something move into the pack of dogs. The dogs attacked, fighting as though it was for their life. Matt ran to their rescue, clubbing as he entered the pack. With a scream and the pain of a thousand needles entering his leg, Matt went down. John knew not of this battle, for he was loading the sleds. Upon his return he found a disturbance among the dogs. When he came to see what had happened, he found a dead wolf, a few dogs, but worst of all his friend and final companion, Matt, dead. The rest of the morning was spent cremating his friend. Then he continued on the trail, for that's all he knew to do.
When the sun cast its evening light on the earth, John finally made it to the Valley. He made camp, then with his heavy pack headed into the valley. This valley was unlike any he had known. The river was filled with gold. Mineral veins glisten in the rock wall's. This was a prospector's dream. Yet the valley was filled with the Wild, it was ominous and pressing, Everywhere. John looked around then headed back to camp for the night. This night was lonelier than the rest. There was no one to be glad with. Only his two dead friends behind him. Come morning, John headed back to the valley. Though the Wild pushed him out, John packed on into the valley of death. On arriving at the sparkling river, John's hopes dropped. A wolf was drinking from the river. No, two. Now three. This was the end. John slowly removed his knife from his belt and his hatchet from his pack. And with that, he fought the Wild.
